


Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy

by midnightprelude, oftachancer



Series: Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Circle of Magi, Corporal Punishment, Dorian POV, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, Intrigue, M/M, Mages, Magic School, Major Character Injury, Order of Argent, Orlesian (French), Pre-DAI, Relationship Negotiations, Rilienus POV, Romance, Secret Relationship, Smut, Strict Structure, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), Young Dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 162,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftachancer/pseuds/oftachancer
Summary: The Order of Argent. The last chance for criminals and delinquents to demonstrate that they could be molded into obedient citizens of the Imperium.Rilienus, skin tan like fine whiskey, warm and beaded with sweat.An escape. He needed an escape. Fresh air and freedom. A chance to prove himself beyond the walls. To—Rilienus, cheekbones shaded, brilliant green eyes bruised with red, lined with kohl and hidden with secrets.Father’s defeated look when he left the carriage. Disappointment. Fury. Frustration.Rilienus, lips curl when he smiles, hands that weave silk, brows knotted from across the courtyard.An escape. Freedom. Open skies. Unfettered.Rilienus, a shadow against the dawn, looking at the sky like he wished he could fly.He would have said yes.He would’ve said yes.Vishante kaffas, he would’ve said yes.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Rilienus
Series: Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794817
Comments: 249
Kudos: 25
Collections: Gay Pride Month





	1. Darkling I listen

## Rilienus

It was hot as a kiln, the molten air fragrant with orange blossoms. Overhead, the sun was a blistering spasm of gold against unrelenting blue. Rilienus eyed that sky and the birds that winged across it, uninhibited. 

Free. 

What a gift to be free. What a beautiful feeling that must be. 

Unrestrained, unhindered. The nature of liberty was so vital to survival that its antonyms could only be touched with prefixes. 

He spun the gold signet ring on his pinky and unfolded from his perch on the bench outside the Praeceptor’s office as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the heavy door. 

The new arrival had managed four days before he’d earned his first set of stripes. Rilienus has been the victim of that office eight times in the course of his decade long tenure with the Order of the Argent and that had been more than enough. And once he’d seen exactly what lay in store for him down that path, he’d learned quickly and well exactly what they expected from him; he’d given it to them to the letter. So much so that they’d named him a Prefect. Such a pleasing, obedient vassal was he that they’d given him various privileges, earning him the appropriate enmity of many, if not most, of the other students under their purview. As the door opened, he lowered his eyes, crossing one open hand across his chest and the other across his back. 

“Ah, Maecilia. Punctual as usual.” 

Rilienus lifted his gaze to stare over the Praeceptor’s garishly emblazoned shoulder. “You sent for me, Dominus.”

“Yes; see to it that master Pavus here is in a proper state to attend his lessons tomorrow. We wouldn’t want him to fall behind in his studies, late as he is to the term.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

“You,” the old man’s voice took on an irritable note as he turned his attention to the young man standing beside him, “would do well to take a page out of Maecilia’s book. I don’t want to see you again, _my lord_ Pavus,” he fairly dripped with insult, “but if I have to, you will regret it. Do you understand?” He glanced up, only the barest trace of a sneer remaining, “Take him.”

Rilienus bowed his head, murmuring, “As you will, Dominus,” and opening his palm to indicate the fellow should join him. Not that the man seemed to be even moderately aware that he was there. Was it willfulness, ignorance, shame? Or worse, pain? He’d seen students come out of that office so bowed in agony they’d barely been able to stand up, let alone bow properly. “With me,” he said calmly, to ease the appearance of indiscretion, and turned on his heel. The sooner they were out of the Praeceptor’s eye line, the better. 

He didn’t look back to check, but he did hear Pavus following him, sandals clipping the marble floors as they made their way through the Praetor courtyard and down the stairs. He walked past the dormitories and out to one of the tower’s overlooks, folding his hands at his back. Minrathous surrounded them; beautiful, high towers ranging across the cityscape, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Gilded. Glistening. “Tails or rod?” 

“What?”

“First offense, he usually uses the fire tails or the shocking rod.” Rilienus studied the distant gleaming points of the Archon’s tower. “My first was the tails. My second, he locked me in an onyx box for an afternoon; I don’t recommend that one. Unpleasantly humid.” He glanced to the side as Pavus took a step closer, joining him at the edge of the balcony. He had a strong, stubborn jaw and frustrated dark grey eyes. Like sharpened steel, those eyes. “Would you like some elfroot? Heritia will come after you on the dueling lines this week to pay you back for yesterday. It’s probably a good idea to be in your best form when he does.”

* * *

## Dorian

Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes, his face finally breaking into the wicked grin he’d worked so hard to suppress for the past few hours, as soon as he realized that his usual escape plan had completely and utterly failed. 

It seemed the Order of the Argent _didn’t_ like to expel young miscreants who took it upon themselves to find the largest, cruelest, stupidest sod in the Blighted place and light them aflame. Who would’ve known?

Instead of shipping them off and making them someone else’s problem, the Order liked to beat their apprentices bloody. At least he’d learned something useful out of it.

“Both, actually. I think he’s already growing rather fond of me. Perhaps one day he’ll enjoy my company as much as yours,” Dorian said with a sly grin, looking sideways at his companion. “You know, ever since I grew this mustache, new friends have been flocking to me like flies to a rotting corpse.”

“So it’s the mustache, is it?”

He lifted the sleeve of his arm, showing an elegantly drawn ward. There was a small incision on the inside of his elbow, hidden by his robes and wrapped, where he’d drawn the blood earlier. “Don’t need the elfroot, but thanks for your offer. I’ve done this before; I came prepared. Not my first break out of imprisonment, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes,” his companion murmured. “You’re doing a very impressive job of that so far.”

Dorian moved to sit on the ledge, leaning on the perfectly polished glass of the window. It was almost as though they were _begging_ them to try to escape, with the city and the ocean gleaming before them.

He gave his boot-licking companion an appraising look - _kaffas, he was handsome_ \- his eyes unsure what features to focus on. Skin tan like fine whiskey. Cheekbones so high and sharp that they left his cheeks shaded. His eyes were mercurial, shifting like the green waves of the Nocen Sea under the summer sun, shaded with kohl and sleeplessness. And his lip curled just so as he smirked, the only evidence of the singular shard of wit he possessed if his behavior was anything to go by. 

Elfroot for a wound. Plebeian. Yes, Dominus. No, Dominus. Several little glinting badges on his dark green silk robes marked him as a favorite. Dorian wasn’t one to ignore signs, and all of the ones that his compatriot wore were unfavorable. He quickly pushed away any interest he might have nurtured; he had bigger issues at stake than a nice toss with a pretty boy.

“And you’ve done so much better yourself, I see.” Dorian’s voice was playful, but his gaze was steely. He’d caught the prefect’s eyes and he didn’t intend to let them go until he was finished. “How long have you been here? A year? Two? When do they line up all of those pretty little brooches you’ve got on your robes, pat you on the back, and permit you to cart around delinquents like me?”

“You’re not terribly smart, are you?” That green gaze held his, apparently lacking the instinct to retreat. “Clever. But not smart. Shame.”

“Oh?” Dorian laughed, crossing his legs and quirking an eyebrow. “And what would you advise me to do, my _wise,_ _experienced_ minder? Sell my spine for a few tasty treats at dinner and the _opportunity_ to wield a semblance of power? Do tell, I’m all ears.”

“Could.” Long fingers rose and tented before full lips. He hummed, letting his gaze lift then slowly unfurl down Dorian’s form. He blinked once, lazy as a crocodile. “Won’t.” He lifted one shoulder and turned, “Allow me to escort you to your chamber, Dominus. It will be my greatest joy.”

Dorian hopped off his perch, the sound of his sandals slapping the floor resounded through the empty tower room. “Oh, don’t be huffy,” Dorian said, moving quickly to catch up, his voice almost apologetic. “It’s Dorian. Please. I’ve insulted you enough now that we’re practically friends.” 

The prefect glanced over his shoulder. “I’m bored. Was your goal to be insulting? Or to prove you’re brazen and shocking? Dorian,” he practically purred as he spread his hands, a wisp of a smile passing his expression like a breeze. “We’re all delinquents here. You’ll have to try just that little bit harder. You did _meet_ Heritia before you caught him on fire, didn’t you? Or did you just merely select someone at random? Did you think they’d send you home?” He lifted his brows, a move that made the color of his eyes shift in the afternoon light. “Did you think at all?”

Dorian was amused. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything resembling entertainment and nobody had even bothered to say his first name since he’d arrived in his posh prison. Certainly not the way this one did, like honey on his lips. 

“I met him. He’s an ass. I know his type; all brawn and muscle, no _finesse,_ and no foresight. Big enough that nobody messes with him. Oblivious enough not to see it coming. Proud enough to hunt me down and try to fight me again.” Dorian smiled, stopping in the middle of the hallway. “Not like you at all, I’m assuming.”

“You don’t think so? I’m not brawny enough to be an idiot? Or not proud enough to want revenge?” He turned, seamlessly crossing his wrists behind his back as he moved. “Which assumption are we making?” 

He chuckled, not moving an inch. “I’m surprised you’re even slightly intrigued by what I think of you.”

“Slightly,” the man’s smirk spread slowly. “Why shouldn’t I be? You’re the one who managed to escape my prison, after all. Color me enthralled.”

“Escape your prison, eh? I think that’s something you’d say to a man right before you dealt the final blow, to lull him into complacency. Is that a correct assumption?” Dorian grinned, and knelt low, presenting himself in a mock bow. “I’m not too proud to admit defeat. It appears I underestimated you. It’s almost always the other way around. I appreciate being proven wrong.”

“That’s a rare quality.” He tilted his head, exhaling a ruffled breeze through his short bangs. “Stop telling people you’re trying to get out,” he advised quietly. “Especially those of us in pretty brooches; we’re all shams and spies. It’s unwise.”

Dorian huffed, sighing, “You would’ve known even if I hadn’t said anything. You’re not that dense.” 

“Another assumption.”

“A correct one. You could’ve turned me in when I showed you the ward on my arm. You didn’t.”

“Maybe I’m planning to blackmail you.”

Dorian chuckled, but he wasn’t smiling. “Be my guest. I’ve got nothing to offer you.”

“Pavus?” He rolled his eyes. “Spare me. That’s a name that drips wealth.”

“You say that as though you believe my father would let me touch a single copper without his knowledge and express consent. Like I said, useless. Go ahead and turn me in; I’ll take my beating.”

“Nothing to lose?” he asked thoughtfully. “Nothing at all?”

“You ask me as though I’d tell you when I don’t even know your name.” Dorian raised an eyebrow, stepping ever so slightly closer. “Perhaps _you_ should try harder.”

“Rilienus.” That smirk was back. Curling his lip. Warming his gaze. “Was that a dweomer to your secrets, Dorian Pavus?”

“No, but it was a nice gesture.” Dorian smiled, meeting those calculating eyes, realizing what he’d taken as laziness was calm, cool patience. “I do wonder what more you’ll try to get from me. I must admit, I’m disappointed. I thought it might’ve been my enviable charm that sparked your interest, but apparently, it was just my supposedly infinite pockets.”

“What a waste of fabric that would be. Less is more, don’t you think?” Rilienus turned one of the rings on his finger, sending a spear of refracted light through the air to catch a small mirror in the high corner. A shimmer of gold descended like a curtain around them, runes like wisps in the air. “Paelac has gotten the closest. I heard that he reached the city before they caught him. Ask him how.” The light flexed around them and dissipated into so many dust motes. “But you’ll think what you like. I’m unconcerned.” He folded his hands, bowing slightly over them. “I hope I don’t know you long.” 

Dorian smiled at the display, wanting to ask more, but holding his tongue. He could puzzle out the enchantment later. He might not get another chance to speak with Rilienus alone. 

“A bittersweet truth of a place like this,” Dorian said with a smile, placing a finger on his chin as though he was considering something, holding his elbow with his other hand. “We _could_ capitalize on the time we have now, I suppose.”

“I’m certain you just told me you had no capital.”

“Even if I did, there’s not much we could spend it on here,” he said, chuckling.

“Where there are people, there’s always a use for coin. Everyone’s a merchant of something.”

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ you’re impossible.”

“I know.” Rilienus grinned, once, bright, and fleeting. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Dorian looked him up and down again, smiling, his hand still on his chin. “Hmm… I was thinking you'd bedded the wrong Magister’s daughter. Or wife, now that I think of it… Are you going to tell me my assumptions are wrong again? Chastise me?”

“You’re a glutton for punishment.”

“Only when it’s given so prettily.”

His brows creased slightly, dropping his gaze to his hands thoughtfully. “Reader of Orlesian ballads, are you?”

“The Orlesians get a few things right, I’ll admit. Pastries and poetry, being two of them.” Dorian pressed a finger to his chin, feather light, more a suggestion than a command. He recited, his voice sweet, soft as a whisper in the empty hall. _“Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne,_ _Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends._ _J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne._ _Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps._ _Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,_ _Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun fruit,_ _Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,_ _Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la unit._ _Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,_ _Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,_ _Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe_ _Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.[1]”_

He felt, or thought he felt, the vaguest tremor of that chin before it lifted from his touch. “ _Touche_ ,” he murmured, nostrils flaring with a sharp exhale. “ _Une touche téméraire_.” He cleared his throat, glancing down the hall. “We don’t all have a death wish.”

“What’s the point of life if there’s no risk involved?”

“You don’t know me,” he hissed, spinning his ring to send the lights cascading once more. “And there’s nothing you can gain from me. Whatever you may have heard, if you try to use this against me, I will ruin you. _Comprenez-vous_?” 

Dorian turned away immediately, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes. He felt his cheeks redden. It had been a miscalculation, a grievous error, and he wanted to sink into the floor. “Perhaps you think too little of yourself,” he said quietly, not meeting Rilienus’ eyes. “Or too little of me. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“What should I think?” Rilienus asked, quick and low. “I don’t know you enough to think of you at all. Nor you me. Either you think you can manipulate me - you can’t - or you’ve no sense of self-preservation.” He shook his head. “Why would you think you could trust me? Trust anyone here? Don’t you see what this place is?”

“Forgive me for trying to dig out a nugget of joy from this pit of misery,” Dorian spat, like a wounded animal. He marched past Rilienus, not looking behind him; he wouldn’t let the other man see the way his lips trembled, not for all the gold in Minrathous. “Perhaps I’ll take your advice and not make the same mistake again.”

There were no footsteps following him down the corridor, no voices shouting after him, nothing to indicate his gamble had been anything but a horrific and foolish mistake. When he turned the corner, Dorian had to fight the urge not to run back to the dormitories. Instead, he walked with his cheeks still flushed with shame, down the hallway, and up the tower to the room he shared with another boy, a mousy, quiet one that Dorian wouldn’t trust as far as he could throw. 

He was lucky; his father had paid extra for double occupancy. Most of the other students had to share larger rooms, four or six young people in close quarters. Still, privacy was a commodity in short supply. Dorian happened to have captured a moment of it; his roommate happened to be gone for the moment. 

As soon as he was certain he was alone, he slammed the door and threw himself on the carefully made sheets of his bunk.

For the first time since he’d arrived in the castle, Dorian was terrified, fear sinking into his bones, threatening to smother him. A small part of him was beginning to wonder if Rilienus and the rest were right. Perhaps there was a _reason_ nobody managed to escape from the Order. 

He wanted to scream into his pillow, shout away his anger, but there was no telling what ears could be listening outside of his door. He silently cursed at his willingness to throw himself at anyone who showed him even a modicum of kindness. He’d said he wouldn’t get involved, and a couple of brief smiles and a few snippy lines later, he was offering himself up to a stranger on a silver platter.

Dorian groaned, distraught, remembering the incensed, terrified look on Rilienus’ face when he rejected him. 

Despite his assurances otherwise, his visit to the Praeceptor’s office had scared him. This entire _place_ did. He couldn’t be blamed for wanting to swaddle himself in the illusion that someone, anyone cared for him, even if it was only for a few stolen minutes of breathless kisses in an abandoned storeroom. 

He bit back bitter tears, unwilling to shed them for what had been one of his _stupidest_ decisions. When he allowed his eyelids to close, he saw that smirk-- _that fucking smug prick_ \--underneath those shifting, dazzling eyes. He wondered what Rilienus would say if he knew that even the memory of his name on the other man’s lips filled him with a dull, aching heat, that even the thought of running his hands through those thick, black curls would be enough to sustain him through a thousand trips to the rector’s office. 

Burying himself in his pillows, as though to strangle the mere idea of the gorgeous prefect who’d given up on the concept of freedom, Dorian shifted and finally fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

## Rilienus

The morning’s lectures were a drain on his soul. As was the nagging tug of a long-absent sensation - guilt. Even though he had nothing - nothing at all - to feel guilty for. He’d assessed Pavus and found him clever enough to be worthy of some small measure of assistance. Assistance, he thought wryly. _Hope_. Surely that was all he could offer. Fanning the flames of hope that would keep him thinking he might get away from here, at least for a little longer, until the Order turned the burning coal in his heart to obsidian. 

Burning. _Kaffas_. Reckless fire in that heart. Foolish and foolhardy. 

During his study period, Rilienus traced rudimentary runes and tried to think if there had ever been a time where he’d been as daring as Dorian had been in the span of that not-quite hour. He found himself touching his chin and frowned, glancing down the row of bowed heads. His own heart raced at the memory of that touch. 

_Dangerous_. 

He’d known Opiter for nearly a year before they’d begun what he’d thought was a love affair. Stolen moments and heated whispers. He’d _thought_ that he’d known him. He’d believed, for a few short weeks, that there might yet be something akin to - what was it Dorian had said? - ‘joy in this pit of misery’. He frowned. He’d wanted that, wanted- no. He hadn’t wanted Opiter; he’d wanted to be wanted, he admonished himself, turning a page and beginning his etchings on a fresh sheet of parchment. He’d been a fool. He’d allowed himself to believe that he was finally safe- that he’d built enough walls and trap doors into his particular, peculiar existence that he was impervious to harm. He’d thought that he simply had to wait, bored out of his mind, until he completed his ‘education’. Prove he wasn’t interesting or intelligent enough to be a threat to his uncle. Bide his time. Make the best of it. 

It had been by chance alone that he’d learned that he was going to be betrayed. He’d barely managed to intercept Opiter on his way to the Praeceptor, and the harsh truth was that Rilienus couldn’t entirely blame him for it. A way out, a pardon, a trade: catch one of the ‘radicals’ to prove that he’d been ‘reformed’ so that he could leave this confounded tower. Who in their right mind wouldn’t take advantage of an offer like that? 

Of course, Rilienus wasn’t in his right mind; he was deranged, his humors hopelessly imbalanced. He’d seen the affidavit that claimed as much. More importantly, he was a survivor. If he could survive his uncle’s treachery, he was damned if he would allow the machinations of a dull mind behind a passable face to undo him. So he’d made his choice, cast his spell, and woven his blood into the tapestry of Opiter’s psyche, turning memory into fantasy - a simple exchange. Would that he could erase the whole of the episode from his mind as well. But he couldn’t. His penance for his indiscretion was his recollection. 

He gathered his scrolls at the bell and avoided Opiter’s gaze as he stalked down the hall. ‘Perhaps you think too little of yourself.’ He gritted his teeth. Too little. Not little enough. Dreaming and wishing and lying and hiding. Gilding his cage. Trading his shackles for silk ropes. 

He bit his tongue to keep his expression neutral as he passed the other students, head held high, a prince among his pathetic peers. 

Why had he said anything at all? The question had kept him up half the night. Why had he allowed himself to linger in that feathersoft touch, listening to poetry? Why had he _admitted_ what he was to a _stranger_? Had he finally succumbed to the melancholy he had been charged with? 

Only, there was something- something inexplicable about Dorian Pavus. A dynamism in his defiance, in his recklessness, tumbling headlong from punishment into potential peril - wild and bright. At odds with the gentleness of his touch and the vulnerability of that smile that he bestowed so freely. 

Free. 

Was that it? 

Rilienus peered up through the open central tower to gaze upon that same, endless, untouchable blue sky. Was he free, somehow, despite it all? He pressed his lips together, following the crowd to the dining room and took his place near the dais, a place of honor for all the obsequious scoundrels the Order of Argent currently had in its collection. All of them wearing their shiny badges of commendation, leading the Chant of Light in the dimly lit space in tedious tones, and taking their seats to revel in the benefits of subservience. ‘Tasty treats at dinner,’ Dorian’s derision echoed in his head and he hid his smirk behind a cough. 

Damn him, but he had enjoyed their verbal sparring. Fun. It had been _fun_ to relax for a moment, to _play-_ He’d relaxed too much. Given too much away. Risked- 

‘What’s the point of life if there’s no risk involved?’

To _live,_ he thought ferociously. To be there to watch the days pass, to suffer through them, to sink into his own baited fury and wait for his opportunity to snap. Another three years. That was all. That was a pittance. Another three years and he would walk out of here, considered safely useless, and he would be free to make his uncle’s life a dark purgatory of regret. 

That was the plan, certainly. Was that the _point_? Reason enough? Reason enough to-

What? To what? 

He realized belatedly that he was touching his chin yet again. That wouldn’t do. He had to stop this. Stop thinking about the deviant. Focus on keeping his head down and maintaining his defenses and-

He touched Dorian’s elbow in the hall outside. “Your presence is required,” he bit off the words like something sour and moved ahead, leading the way down the twining stairs and twisted halls of the tower and stopping before a plain wooden door. “In here,” he said, eyeing the empty hall. 

Absurd. 

It was an absurd risk for no advantage. And yet. 

He followed Dorian into the prayer room and carefully shut the door behind them. He saw the realization dawn that there was no Praetor or professor behind his having been brought to this isolated setting. 

“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to say anything at all. Hadn’t intended to so much as speak to Dorian again unless he had to. But he needed to. Like a beetle hopelessly attracted to the glimmer of stars in a mirror pond only to drown in an inch of water. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, scowling at his hands. Rings like tiny collars. Squid ink staining his thumb. “I-” What? He what? What more could he possibly confess to this beautiful, terrible stranger with his suspicious, gray gaze? “-made an assumption,” he finished lamely. “Without any evidence. I generally try to reject assumptions- or at least challenge them. I behaved impulsively and unfairly. Please excuse me.” 

Ludicrous. Ludicrous that he was apologizing for being sensible. Preposterous that he was asking forgiveness for safeguarding both of their secrets, let alone their relative security. He rolled his eyes and untucked a serviette full of strawberries from a hidden pocket in his sleeve, setting it down on one of the benches close to Dorian and backing away. As though he were some kind of wild animal that needed to be placated. “ _Doux cadeaux pour les dociles,_ ” he offered by way of poor explanation, frowning at the silent statue of Andraste in the corner. 

Dorian stared at him for a breath, seemingly surprised, before recovering, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“Took you long enough,” he said simply, taking one of the strawberries, turning it over in his hand. “Is this a genuine gesture, or am I to be indebted to you for even this minuscule display of generosity?”

Dorian held up a hand and sighed, shaking his head. “No, no, don’t answer that question. It was unbecoming. For what it’s worth, you have my apology as well. I unthinkingly endangered the both of us. You, unlike me, have something yet to lose, a visage you’d like to maintain. And yet you brought me here anyway.” 

Dorian’s smile widened, his eyes glimmering as he tilted his head, chuckling lightly. “It seems I’ve underestimated you again. There’s a bit of grit left in you that they haven’t polished away.”

“A modicum,” Rilienus murmured, watching him turn the ripe, red berry over between his fingers. How long had it been since he’d seen a smile that like? Wide and genuine? It pressed at Dorian’s cheeks, lifting the corners of his mustache. He ached, suddenly, to touch- the mustache, the smile, the curl of raven hair, the man they all belonged to. He swallowed, glancing away. “It isn’t entirely-” Why? For the Maker’s sake, why was he still talking? He’d apologized for being a boor. He’d given him a handful of fruit for no discernible reason. Wasn’t that enough? “I do aim to be underestimated. As a part of my visage,” he added. 

It was not unlike being under compulsion. Perhaps he was. Dorian had one ward laced into his skin. Perhaps there were more, or he’d secreted some artifact on his person that called to unspoken truths like a snake charmer’s flute. The way his eyes shifted from steel to silver. The ease of him. Decadent little tastes of what lay beyond the walls. 

Lips dewed with strawberries, fresh and full. He was still alive. Viscerally so.

“Nothing about you is unbecoming,” he whispered, tracing the intricate handles of the stacked scrolls on the shelves. The stone atop the archives was beginning to dim. He would have to remember to notice that the next time he came here with permission. He needed to breathe, to recenter, to escape the steady pressure of the space between them that seemed to want to do nothing more than shrink. “Perilous, perhaps.” 

He caught Dorian’s smile widening ever so slightly at the compliment as he took a seat on the bench next to his prize. Sitting while an opponent was still standing? It had to be a calculated attempt at vulnerability. His companion’s eyes flitted to the fruit in his hand before looking up to meet Rilienus’ gaze again, holding him in place as strongly as any enthrallment.

“I’ve already revealed to you my feelings on danger,” Dorian said, biting into the ruby fruit, seemingly unperturbed that he was being watched while he ate. Perhaps he was used to it. 

“It’s delicious,” Dorian added with a wry grin after he’d finished chewing, setting aside the top and plucking another one of his gifts from the bench, but Rilienus couldn’t tell whether he was speaking of the strawberry or continuing his sentence from before.

He wasn’t sure it mattered. There was juice gleaming on his upper lip. “Yes.” He inclined his head, drawing the fragments of his facade around him like a cloak. “I’ll leave you to it.”

There was just a trace of veiled disappointment in Dorian’s eyes. Try as he might, the man was hard-pressed to hide his true feelings. It would get him in trouble later; Rilienus already could see it happening. His voice was soft again, as it had been in the deserted corridor the day before. 

“It would be cruel of me to not at least offer to share such an exquisite gift,” Dorian said, his every action willful defiance. 

“You would be well on your way to fitting in brilliantly here.” He sighed, leaning against the wall beside the door. “I’m supposed to foster appropriate behavior, Pavus. You’ve already admitted my efforts would be wasted on you.”

“It’s Dorian.”

“I know your name.”

“I know you do. You should use it.”

“To what end?”

Dorian chuckled, flashing yet another smile. “I’d rather you discover that for yourself.”

“And why should your druthers be my concern?”

“Rilienus,” he said, lingering over the name like it was an evocation. “Because it’s exactly the sort of thing they wouldn’t want you to do.”

“Precisely.” He crossed his arms, trying to ignore the echo of his name on that lilting tongue. He eyed the signet ring on his finger. “Is that all that drives you? Opposition?”

“A clever guess, but an incorrect one.” Dorian looked down at his carefully manicured fingernails before meeting his eyes again. “The desire to live my life on my terms, regardless of what anyone might say or do to me. That’s what I hold on to when everything else falls away.”

“There’s your trouble. You think this is life.” Rilienus smiled despite himself, studying the way the magelight caught his eyes. “It isn’t. It’s the holding pen before life begins.”

“No. That’s just what they want you to believe. They can control your actions, the ones they see, but they can’t control your thoughts. You’ve let them get to you. It’s a lie, all of it. The prayers and the punishments, they only have meaning if you allow them to.” 

“You think you see everything.” He pressed his lips together, stifling another sigh. Ferocity in his expression. Defiance in his hands. ‘They can’t control your thoughts.’ Oh, but if Rilienus could do such things then surely they could. And probably did, when it benefited them. “Why? What makes you think you understand me? You don’t know me at all. You don’t know anything. Quick speech and poorly executed flashfire do not a rebel make.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand you. Not yet.” Dorian smiled, his hands fanning behind him as he leaned back on the bench. “Maybe I’d like you to teach me. The lessons here are dull and outdated. I want to learn something useful here, while I’ve got the chance.”

“Before you make your escape, you mean.”

“Of course. I hear the skepticism in your voice. You don’t believe, but a part of you _wants_ to.”

“The parts of me that want things aren’t very intelligent generally,” Rilienus muttered, tapping his fingertips to his lips. “Nor have they proven themselves particularly useful.”

Dorian popped another strawberry in his mouth, considering, chewing slowly. “A sad, lonely life you must lead, my jaded friend. Not that I don’t understand the inclination. Disappointment stings less when you never allow yourself to hope in the first place.” Dorian’s gaze was piercing, intense, and relentless. “But you _do_ want. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought me here. Otherwise, you would’ve left long ago. You’re still standing before me, pretending to be a paragon of virtue.” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” Rilienus laughed. “Really?”

Dorian’s expression was deathly serious, but his eyes laughed along with Rilienus. “Of course you are. It’s the only possible explanation why you spirited me away into an empty room and _still_ haven’t had the gall to kiss me yet.”

He shook his head, chuckling as his pulse raced. “And only members of the dwarven pantheon can resist you, is that it?”

“Oh, they’d crumble too, ruins in a civilization all but forgotten.” Dorian laughed, the sound ringing against the marble. “If I’m wrong, tell me, then, why I’m truly here.”

“Perhaps I’m recording your confessions for the Praetor, so I can get a new, fancier brooch,” he murmured. “Or perhaps I simply felt I’d been churlish and owed you an apology. Or,” he smirked, “perhaps I have a penchant for watching deviants eat fruit.”

“It’s not the first, the second is only part of the story, and the third certainly is true.” Dorian finished the last of his strawberries, arranging their discarded tops in a line. “Is that what you think I am? A ‘deviant’? And who, pray tell, made that rule?”

“Everyone.” He nudged off the wall and took a step closer. “They held a meeting and made an announcement. I could have sworn you heard. What other reason could you have for flaunting all the rules? Living your life according to your own ideals?” He lifted a brow. “Heretical.”

“Fuck your ‘everyone’,” he said, quirking a brow of his own. “I’m interested in what you think.”

“I think,” he crossed his wrists lightly at his back, meandering closer- He couldn’t help it, as though he were being drawn on a line- “-that fucking everyone would indeed make you a deviant.”

“You’re such an ass. I don’t want everyone. And you know that.”

“Do I?” he tilted his head, tracing the curve of Dorian’s mustache with his eyes. “Three days isn’t long. There are others here who speak Orlesian. I’m simply the first you managed to suss out.”

“Maybe a part of me wishes to put a little tarnish on those shiny medals of yours.”

“Maybe a part of me wishes you would.” He circled behind him, considering the shapely curve of his head. He could bend from here and breathe the scent of him if he wanted, or let his fingers comb through his hair to see if it was soft or smooth or slick. He edged closer until he could feel the heat of him lingering in the inches between them. “It’s a very, very bad idea.”

“You could still walk away if you’d like.” Dorian’s voice was husky, a low rumble in his chest. “Pretend like it never happened. Go back to your raised dais and chant your pretty little words at the rectors until you’ve forgotten all of your deviant little desires.”

“I could chant them remembering, too,” he skimmed his knuckles down the side of Dorian’s neck, peering down at him. “Just the one. One deviant desire is more than enough.” Dangerous. Terrible. Soft- His neck was soft and warm. The skin beneath his ear was softer still, protected and preserved, like the petal of a night-blooming flower. “A kiss, was it?”

“For now, yes. Was there something else you were wanting from me?”

Rilienus drew a slow breath, petting that pretty curve beneath his ear with his thumb. “I’d like to taste what it’s like to be free again. For just a moment.” He sank to his knees on the short kneeling platform attached to the bench and rested his forehead to the back of Dorian’s head. His hair was soft, and slick, and smelled like spices and honey. He brushed his lips against it, following the curve of his skull to the back of his neck, and tasted that same warm skin he’d touched. Caramel dewed and salted. The lines of tension, muscles flexing. He let the breath he’d held go, tracing the line of Dorian’s jaw with light fingers as he made a study of the back of his neck with lips and tongue.

Dorian turned to face him, his hands knotting in Rilienus’ robes. “Now who’s the deviant, you beautiful tease? Stop holding back and kiss me like you mean it.”

“Am I not?” he murmured, searching, counting the shards of darkness in the molten silver of his eyes. He traced the curve of his lip with his fingers, then followed that touch with his tongue. Strawberries and sweat. The tickle of his mustache against his lips as he caught the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. Sweet heat and slick- He moaned low, sliding a hand down Dorian’s arm to feel the way his muscles bunched and tightened as he gripped his robes. It would be so easy to fall, to topple uncontrolled, to dive headlong off the tower he’d built to protect himself- for this. For the feel of Dorian’s pulse against his thumb and the unrestrained pull and press of him. He dragged himself back, catching his breath, lips lingering. “Happy now?”

“Happy? Yes. Delighted, actually.” Dorian kissed him again, gingerly, as though he was afraid of shattering the moment, the little island of peace they’d managed to build for themselves. “Satisfied?”

He ran a hand that had never seen a hard day’s labor against Rilienus’ cheek, smiling at him as though he’d found an oasis within an endless desert. “Never, Rilienus. I’ll never be satisfied. Not until we’ve got nothing separating us from the open sky. But kiss me once more to hold me over until then. Your lips are sweeter than I could’ve imagined.”

“That’s the strawberries,” he chuckled. 

“You know it’s not,” Dorian said seriously, his voice an unsteady murmur. “It’s rebellion.”

“Is it?” he asked, letting his eyes fall shut as he focused on the feel of those lips moving against his own. “I don’t remember that being so warm. Nor prickly.” He ran the flat of his tongue over Dorian’s lower lip, “Nor slick.”

“Then you’ve already been here too long, hmm?” Dorian sighed, pulling away, his smile slowly fading. “And so have we. I suppose you’ve earned one of my secrets. Would you like to see another of my tricks?”

He drew a chain out from underneath his robes; at the end of it was a golden two-headed serpent sitting upon a plate of gold shaped like a peacock’s feather, each one terminated in a precious gemstone. 

Dorian held out the palm of his hand and cast, a green stem growing out from his hands. Buds formed and then bloomed, white lilies of the valley sprouting from his fingertips. His amulet was glowing softly, subtly, just an extra shimmer of light showing it was being used at all.

“It’s only an illusion. It’ll fade as soon as the spell ends.” His voice was conspiratorial, eyes sparkling like the dust motes caught in the fading sunlight. “But touch it.”

Dorian chuckled, picked the flower, and passed it to him. “It has heft, a physical presence in this world. It can be manipulated, touched, felt.” He let the spell lapse as Rilienus turned the lily over in his hand and it vanished into nothing. “I don’t intend to use it to just make pretty things. I can become anyone I want, or at least look like them, _feel_ like them, for a while. I don’t intend to stay here. I _will_ escape, and sooner, rather than later.”

“I suppose that’s my cue to take advantage of the time before you do, then,” Rilienus smoothed his fingers together where the lily had been. Air now. Just air. He smiled, fleeting, and tucked the pendant away beneath Dorian’s robes. “Hide this better. It’s no good having a secret if you reveal it to everyone.”

“Reveal it to everyone?” Dorian laughed, placing a hand lightly on Relienus’ arm. “You’re the first person I’ve even had an inclination to speak with. No. The only way anyone finds out about it is if you tell them.”

“A penchant for ballads doesn’t make me trustworthy, you know,” he brushed his fingers lightly over the back of Dorian’s hand. 

“It doesn’t. Especially not Orlesian ballads,” he said with a grin. “I’m trusting you because I want to believe that I can trust someone here. Not the most judicious decision, but then again I’ve always been a bit of a romantic. I’d rather you betray me than have never trusted anyone at all. I won’t blame you if you do. As you said, you don’t know me. But I want to know _you._ And I’m willing to risk myself to do it.”

“If that’s what you want,” Rilienus murmured, letting his gaze linger on the corner of that grin. “It’s been a while since I let someone know me; we’ll see if I can remember how.” He traced the shell of Dorian’s ear, tucking his hair back. “I’ll give you a warning if I plan to betray you. Enough that you’ll have a chance to try to catch me on fire first.”

Dorian leaned into the caresses, sighing in contentment. “Don’t betray me, then. Even attempting to destroy a face like yours? An act of aggression against the Maker himself. Perish the thought.”

“Don’t _tell_ me that,” Rilienus tutted softly, kissing the line of his cheek. “Revealing your weaknesses.” He leaned back, brows drawing together. “What are you going to do about Heritia?”

“Truthfully? Probably get the shit kicked out of me,” he laughed nervously. “This has worked every other time; expelled and sent home before my victim exacted his revenge. You were right earlier; I had no idea what I was in for. If he comes at me alone, it’ll be simple, but even he’s not enough of a dullard to do that. I’m flattered you care.”

“Who says that I care?” he asked, thumbing his lower lip. “Maybe I want to give him a warning. Or murder him before you get a chance.”

“My knight in shining armor? Or flowing robes, rather?” Dorian smiled, leaning against him. 

“He irritated me long before you came along.” 

“I’ll tell myself you did it for me. Too poetic to pass up.”

He tucked his chin atop Dorian’s head, chuckling. “You don’t strike me as someone who looks for protection. Or needs it. Poetry or no poetry.”

“You know me better than you think, then.” Dorian tilted his head up to meet his lips again, lingering, his breath hot against his mouth. He smiled, taking his hand and pulling him up. “You’d save me some trouble though. I wouldn’t mind that.”

“Favors and debts,” Rilienus murmured, distracted, eyeing their clasped hands. Pleasure, warmth, and- Had he ever had his hand held? Allowed himself to be tugged and moved? What, what, _what_ was he doing? Why couldn’t he bear the idea of stopping? A breath of fresh air and his body rebelled at the idea of returning to the stifled and stale. He shivered, peeling his fingers free to prove that he could. “Tarnishing my medals of deference isn’t enough? You want more?”

Dorian smiled, moving towards the door, his robes lightly swishing against the polished marble. “You’ve underestimated my desires, grievously, my friend. I want _everything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Demain des l'aube, by Victor Hugo


	2. Not Born for Death, Immortal Bird

## Rilienus

Everything.

He pressed his lips to his knuckles, glancing up from his parchment to gaze out the window as the sky purpled like a bruise above the city. Everything. The sound of Dorian’s voice, dark with promise, rolled around his memory. What did he mean? An unframed sky and unfettered hands? A world beyond the walls? Freedom? Freedom to do what he liked? What did that entail specifically? The Magisterium? What else was there?

Rilienus had chastised him for sharing his secrets, but he’d given just as much away. His fears and weaknesses. His desire. All means by which he could be manipulated. 

Dorian had slipped inside his guard, willful and willing, and now… what? What were his plans? To escape the inescapable. To deny the laws and expectations of the Order and Andraste and the Imperium at large. Was Rilienus part of those plans now? A pawn in the other man’s game to be used and spent?

Of course, he was. 

_So what?_ he thought irritably, crossing to sit by the window, tugging at a thread that had come loose from his robe. The purple sky was throwing strange shadows across the golden steeples of the towers. He’d missed being touched. He’d missed being wanted. And Dorian did want him. He was fairly certain of that. 

Granted, that was a small thing. Rilienus had been wanted before, or he’d believed that he had been. All the signs were the same. The breathlessness. The stroke of palms. The tangle of tongues. There was always something more at work. Some other plot. Some means by which those hands and lips were used to place him on a board. It was a matter of understanding what the game was, trying to gauge its direction and plot its course. 

Horace - who’d smelled like lavender and had the rough hands of carpenter stock - had been the first; he’d used him to get into the Praetor’s office and the next time Rilienus had seen him, he’d earned a spot at the Father’s side, keeping the lower Chantry in order. They came and went- these trysts and temptations. By the time Opiter had made his play, Rilienus was no longer shocked by betrayal. More pity for them both. 

The trouble was: he _liked_ Dorian. Not only because he was beautiful - although he was, by the light of the Maker - but also because he burned with that _vibrancy_. Visceral and snarling into the storm of life like he might eat it whole. Laughing without fear of being overheard. Smiling like a siren. Shining with hope and possibility. Presumptuous and clever and so bloody cocksure of himself. He seemed _authentic_ \- which had to be a lie; he’d learned that no one was really who they initially appeared to be. Who he was, Rilienus could learn in time; those truths always revealed themselves one way or another. 

But what did Dorian _want from him_? And was it something that Rilienus was willing to trade?

He wound the thread tightly between his fingers, watching the blood gather in his fingertips and purple like the sky. He had a sinking feeling he would, no matter what he asked. 

For now, anyway.

Just to feel alive. 

## Dorian

Morning light streamed in from the wide windows skirting the grand hall where the entire Order and all of their disciples took their meals. Sweat beaded on Dorian’s brow, threatening to run down his face in rivulets, marring the kohl with which he’d carefully lined his eyes. The day was promising to be as oppressive as the castle itself. The Order could’ve cooled the stone towers with magic--there were nearly a hundred passably talented mages, just counting the pupils--but it seemed they liked the spartan discomforts the Tevinter sun provided, free of charge. It set everyone on edge, a test from the Maker, the Chantry brothers claimed. 

Idiotic. Another way of exerting control. 

Dorian spooned his porridge absently, allowing his mind to wander. If he’d been at home, Livius, his parents’ steward, might’ve had the kitchen fix him a similar breakfast, sweetened with honey and dried fruit, elegantly spiced, hearty, and delicious. His meal this particular morning was bland and dull, just like everything else between the walls.

_Almost everything._

His eyes flitted up briefly from the spartan bench on which he sat with his peers. The room had raised steps, an obvious ode to the silent hierarchy of the Order. Dorian was assigned to sit near the bottom, only two steps above the slaves and one above the servants. He needed to learn his place, the Praeceptor had told him repeatedly, lightning crackling from his whip as Dorian pretended to wince. He’d played the part well, it seemed; the Praeceptor didn’t seem to notice that the scorch marks he inflicted on Dorian’s back and legs were all illusory.

Rilienus sat near the room’s apex, just short of the clergy, faculty, and the Praetor, on a bench cushioned with velvet. Dorian allowed his eyes to slide over him, the phantom feeling of his lips and tongue on the back of his neck distracting him from the misery of pretending he was miserable.

He’d fallen quickly, more easily than Dorian had expected, but then again, so had he. It had been so simple to put aside his trepidation, to claim something beautiful, clandestine, seductive. It had felt so delicious to watch him give up his pretenses and succumb. 

He was lovely, seated among his obsequious peers, indifferent and bored, those green eyes nothing but slits against the sunlight. Dorian wasn’t fooled. Rilienus saw everything below him, stretching out like a king surveying his birthright. He _knew_ things, had knowledge that Dorian would need if he were to ever escape the castle. He had _power_ , even if it was only slightly less illusory than the markings Dorian had let the Praeceptor think he’d left on his perfect skin.

It was part of why he wanted him, but a small one, and far from the only reason. He had recognized his longing reflected in the other man’s eyes, the need to be needed, a heavy blanket of loneliness. Rilienus tried to hide it with casual boredom and snide words, but Dorian knew better. 

He had seen how their peers shied away from Rilienus, as though he was Blighted. It was the badges, perhaps, his position as favored among the most hated faculty. Or maybe something more? He couldn’t be certain, but he needed to find out, and soon. 

There was so much he wanted to discover.

He turned back to his bowl, not bothering to scrape the dregs from the bottom, his mind lost in thought, in the memory of those sweet, forbidden touches. He was starving in a manner no food could satisfy, already hungry for more. 

The bell clanged and Dorian pushed his bowl aside, swinging his leg over the bench. He caught Rilienus looking at him as he walked past, just for a breath. He felt the shadow of a hand brush past him, almost imperceptible. A weight as something dropped into the pocket of his uniform. 

Daring, foolish, unwise. 

He didn’t smile at him, even though _Maker’s breath_ , he wanted to.

The prefects filtered out of the hall first, in reverse order of who was seated closest to the door. Dorian was among the last to leave. He gathered his meager belongings and strode off, towards the outdoor pool, hoping exercise and the cool waters would help dissipate some of the heat he was feeling before his morning lessons.

He brushed his thumb along the supple, smooth skin of the mysterious item he’d been gifted by his equally mysterious… Ally? Friend? Lover? He wasn’t sure of the nature of their relationship yet. 

When he was finally alone, stripped out of the stifling cloth of his uniform, he dared to look to see what it was.

A purple plum, unblemished, and perfectly ripe. He bit into it eagerly, sugar and secrets heavy on his tongue.

## Rilienus

He waited outside the Praeceptor’s office. Another day. Another corporal punishment. His palms itched. It had been harder to keep his head down today, so much harder than it had been in months. 

“Don’t let me see you again. Maecilia.” The Praeceptor nodded stiffly and disappeared back into his office, slamming the door, leaving the narrow-shouldered youth shivering in his wake. 

He’d seen him before, but his name escaped him. That was enough of a clue; he remembered the valuable names. He held out a small bottle of the elfroot potion and watched the man drink it, gasping and gulping. 

“Thank you.”

Rilienus shrugged, looking away. “Do you require assistance getting back to your room?”

He heard a sigh, “No.”

“He’ll expect you to be at evening prayers.”

“I know. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Rilienus crossed his wrists at his back and gave a slight bow. “Good day to you, then.” He left without looking back. There was nothing to look back to. No reason. No value. He frowned as he passed the tall windows that looked out upon the Archon’s palace, catching sight of his reflection in the glass. The medals at his chest gleamed without a sign of tarnish. The epaulet on his left shoulder was golden against the dark green of his robes, all folds in their meticulous place. _A paragon of virtue?_ he thought wryly. Was that truly how he appeared? He tried to see it in his reflection, in his straight back and lifted chin and eyes- eyes that were as cold as he felt. Emptied of everything but ice and darkness and blood. 

What to do with the colors that were fighting their way back into him now? The feel of illusory flowers and caramel skin and- Moments of freedom, the taste of a bird’s wing dripping in macerated strawberries. 

He’d taken a risk, brushing close enough to slip the plum into his pocket that morning. A foolish one. Only time would tell if it had been worth it. Did he even like plums? Who didn’t like plums? Would he think that he had some power over him just because he’d given it to him? Didn’t he, in some small way? Did it matter?

Yes. 

Yes, it mattered, because no matter how much he liked the younger man, he couldn’t throw over a decade of work for a few moments of- of-

Rebellion. 

No. 

Passion. Yes. Life. Vivacity. Impulse. 

To feel the thrum of his pulse again, fast in his veins, reminding him that he was more than a crocodile in wait. To feel that same rising pulse echoed beneath his fingers and under his tongue- proof that he was more than the shell he’d wrought. What, exactly, that was- he wasn’t entirely sure anymore. 

Rilienus could admit that much to himself, at least, as he abandoned the window and headed down the stairs and through the open courtyard. Ripe oranges in the air. Spice lingering on the back of his tongue. Maybe he was alive after all.

## Dorian 

Dorian shook off beads of water from his skin, toweling off, stretching out muscles pleasantly tired from exercise. An hour focused on nothing but the push and pull of his body in the crisp, clear pool. He stripped and hung his suit to dry on a clothesline, several other similar outfits flapping in the warm breeze.

Quiet, serenity, privacy, time to think, and scheme and _breathe_. Four walls surrounded the courtyard, but nothing was separating him from the sky; he could feel the heat of the sun on his skin already. A bell tolled and Dorian started.

He bent at the waist, hurriedly stepping into his smalls, slipping loose silk breeches on over them, buttoning his emerald robes, each clasp polished and perfect. New still, untarnished. It was only a matter of time. He tossed his used towel into the bin, grabbed his knapsack, and rushed through the courtyard, his feet flying across the flagstones. 

Late. He was late. He’d gotten lost in his mind, letting the rest of the world pass him by. Not a good start to the day, not when Heritia was already going to be looking for a reason to put him in his place. Dorian ran through empty hallways, austere despite the marble covering the floor. All the little ducklings were already in their little flocks, flapping their wings in time to the piper’s tune. 

All except one. An errant, a pariah, a deviant. He was already showing his colors. 

Dorian reached the heavy ironwood door and threw it open, sweat dripping down his cheeks from his flight across the castle. 

Twenty heads swiveled, forty eyes falling on him all at once. 

The students were all paired off, facing each other, practice staves at their sides. 

All except one. 

The instructor sighed, waving a hand, motioning him to take his place in the line.

Heritia’s eyes fell on him, a cruel smirk curling his lips, looking him up and down like he wanted to devour him. Dorian approached him, a small, casual smile forming on his face. He took the wooden staff Heritia held out to him, bowing his head slightly in mock appreciation. 

“I thought you might have thought better of joining us today,” the brute grunted. Somehow he’d managed to grow back most of the hair that Dorian had burned off the day before, although it was a slightly different shade of brown. 

“And miss seeing your lovely face?” Dorian said, his lilting voice quiet enough not to be overheard by the dueling master. “Of course not.”

“Control of the staff is hard to master.” He had no concerns about being overheard, his voice booming. “We’ll just let bygones be bygones. Your mistake.”

“What are we to practice this morning? Are you going to tell me or should I just guess?”

The staff passed back and forth between the taller man’s hands in a way that said he’d much prefer to whack Dorian over the head with it than to cast anything. “Spirit shields,” he answered through gritted teeth. 

“Is that all, then?” Dorian chuckled, taking his place on the dueling line. “You first or me?”

“Allow me.” His smile widened, sharp, and he bowed slightly. A few of the other pairs had begun to work, casting bolts of lightning or shafts of fire down the line. Heritia lifted his chin. “Give it your best shot.”

Dorian looked up at him, suspicious at the sudden cordiality. He ran his fingers against the roughly carved staff. It was enough to focus their magic but wasn’t particularly powerful. He adopted a wider stance, bending his knees and drew back his staff.

He drew on his mana, ozone crackling in the air as he cast, purple lightning erupting from the tip of his staff as he pointed it at Heritia’s torso. 

Heritia’s barrier snapped into place.

It was unnecessary. Dorian’s magic arced wide, flying over the taller man’s head by half a dozen feet, charring the wall behind him. 

Dorian’s eyes widened. He’d never botched a spell so badly…

Then he watched his partner’s smile grow, just barely. “Better luck next time.” He spun his staff. “Shields up,” he called a moment before he sent a wave of ice crystals barreling down the line towards him. 

Dorian cast quickly, spinning and throwing up a hasty barrier. Heritia wasn’t giving him much warning…

The spirit shield shimmered faintly, white and cloudy--odd, his barriers weren’t usually opaque--before winking out.

“ _Kaffas_!” Dorian shouted, ducking out of the way of the onslaught. A crystal sliced the side of his cheek, drawing blood. He covered his head with his arms, trying to protect his face from the shards of ice. 

When he stood up, everyone else in the room had stopped their exercises. Dorian glanced at Rilienus from across the chamber. The prefect met his gaze, expressionless, amidst the sea of wide eyes and the shouts of their peers. 

“What the Void did you do?” Dorian shouted, stepping towards Heritia, fire in his eyes. 

“Me?” the bigger man asked, brows winging in a poor approximation of innocence. “You were supposed to cast your shield. Not my fault you can’t control your mana.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rilienus take a step towards the professor - and the wave of dismissal he received almost immediately. His wrists crossed behind his back and he looked down the row again, cool and unreadable as a statue.

“You…” Dorian drew fire into his palm, but it was the wrong color, a pale sickly yellow. He stared at Heritia, realization drawing a smile across his lips. He hadn’t picked out his staff; Heritia had chosen it for him. 

He tossed the weapon aside and the wood thunked dully on the marble. “Try me again, my friend. I must’ve had a slip of memory.”

Heritia laughed. “I’m not going to draw on the unarmed,” he announced. All chivalry. 

“My turn then?” Dorian smirked, curling the tips of his mustache. “As you wish. Shields up.”

Casting battle magic without a focus was dangerous; using their form as a focus, a mage was just as likely to blow their arm off as they were to shape reality to suit their wishes. Casting battle magic with a faulty, uncontrollable staff, however… 

Dorian felt the power of the Fade surging through his body, lightning in his legs, his arms, his fingers tingling with its power. He drew upon it, shaping it, willing it into existence. He raised his arms above his head and stretched them out before him, wrists touching. 

The room turned purple with the power of the spell, overpowering the yellow glow of the candles. He felt the hair on his arms and legs rising. Lightning shot from the palms of his hands, filling the room with the smell of metal and raw power. 

Heritia snarled, dropping to the ground and throwing a shield up over himself. Not a shield- a reflection. Dark crackling sparks flew off of him in all directions, sending the other students scattering, even as the core of the bolt pushed him back across the room. His newly grown hair stood on end, his teeth chattering, as he spun his staff and leveled it at Dorian again, roaring and sending another wave of crushing ice snaking towards him. 

Dorian smiled, stepping towards the spell, casting a shield of his own. It was nearly invisible, but hard as a diamond, sparkling and glimmering where the light of the room passed through. He admired it for a moment, a satisfied smile crossing his lips as the ice smashed into his barrier, the sound of breaking glass filling the room as the fragments clattered to the ground.

“I’m a _mage_ ,” Dorian laughed, dispelling the barrier. “I’m never unarmed.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Heritia snapped his staff against the floor, and the black marble rolled out from him like cloth, toppling the nearest students and a pair of benches behind him. “You’re nothing.”

“I suppose I’m going to have to, aren’t I? You’re not going to do it for me.” Dorian raised his arms and his feet lifted off of the ground, force magic tingling from the soles of his feet until the ground stopped shivering. He launched a bolt of fire toward his opponent as soon as he landed, light as a feather. “What did you do to my staff?”

Heritia batted the bolt away, hissing as it scorched his arm in the process. “Bite me.” He threw his staff in the air and brought a hailstorm catapulting from the ceiling.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , leave the rest of them out of it! You’re going to get someone killed!” Dorian shouted, throwing up a shield that covered the upper half of the room. “It’s me you want, you little _shit_.”

“Little shit?” The brute beamed, blood on his teeth, and barreled forward towards him, gathering air around him into thickening ice as he moved. “You need to learn discipline.”

Dorian snapped and the gravity around Heritia changed, slowing his motion to a crawl. “And you expect to teach it to me, do you? Instruct me then. I’m listening.”

“What did you-” He bent his head slowly, struggling to move. 

“What were you wanting to demonstrate? I’m intrigued now.” Dorian lowered his hands, stepping closer. He gathered purple wisps around him; spirits of fear in the shape of disembodied skulls swirled around his shoulders. The warmth was sapped from the room. Dorian snuffed out the candles with a wave of his hand, the only light coming from the eerie glow of his mana and the lightning sparking from his hands. Purple clouds surrounded his feet, dissipating and reforming as he walked. “Discipline, was it? I have a lesson for you too, my _friend_. Would you like to hear it?”

“Go back to where you came from, you whiny little twig.”

Dorian laughed, throwing his head back as the arcane horrors stopped just short of Heritia’s nose. “Oh, I will. Gladly. But not yet.”

He allowed the spirits to wash over his opponent’s body, shrouding him in purple smoke so thick the man was lost in the clouds. The sounds of his screams echoed out of the impenetrable fog, low at first, but rising in pitch and haste as fear rooted. 

“Well done, Pavus,” the professor - Kamis? Kaimish?- spoke to him for the first time. “An excellent demonstration. Now let him go. And the rest of you, back to your shields.” He passed down the line, pausing beside Dorian. “You’re in the wrong class. We’ll correct that.”

Dorian dispelled the horrors, letting them slip back out of his control and into the Fade, their purpose served. 

He bowed his head in deference to the professor--he was one of the better ones--and took his place back in the line. 

“Thank you, Dominus,” he said, his voice like the crack of a whip in the silent room. “I appreciate your praise.”

A few of the other students were carefully climbing to their feet, while others remained crouched under benches. Rilienus remained where he’d begun, still and straight, brushing clumps of ice from his shoulders as a trickle of blood made its way down his cheek from where a hailstone had clipped him. 

“What was that?” A reed-thin girl who couldn’t have been older than seventeen peered at Dorian, wide-eyed. “The clouds? I haven’t seen that before.”

“Necromancy,” the man beside her whispered. 

Dorian smiled slightly, wiping the blood from his face with a slender finger. He chuckled, not turning towards them. “It was, yes. Nobody alive teaches the craft.”

Heritia slumped, pale as his ice, on the floor as the clouds cleared, staring shocked into nothingness. The professor tapped his cheek and pointed to the door. “To the apothecary, thank you. I’ll stand in your place.” He turned, tucking his sleeves back. “Right. What is it you would like to learn from the living?” 

Dorian smiled, moving towards the collection of practice staves on the wall, running his hands along a couple before picking one out for himself. He returned to the line, facing his new opponent, bowing again.

“Everything, Dominus,” Dorian’s eyes were glittering like the shards of ice that melted on the floor. “I want to learn it all.”


	3. in each sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride, everyone!!!!

## Dorian

“Was it in the Fade then?” The girl from earlier hurried to his side as they were gathering their things. Her hair fell in long ringlets down her back to her waist, braided with threads of gold. “That you learned that spell?”

Dorian turned, smiling, towards the sound of the voice. “No, not exactly. It’s an old Nevarran tradition, practiced by the Mortalitasi there. I chose the specialty a few years ago when I was studying in Vyrantium. Partially for the drama of it, partially for the lack of tutors. You learn it from a Mortalitasi who has passed on.”

“How do you convince a corpse to teach you?” her partner asked, shouldering his satchel. “I never thanked you, by the way, for making him back off the other day. Thank you. I’m Erend. This is Lethina.”

They walked through a courtyard ringed with shrubbery. The sun was high, hot, almost unbearable. They had half an hour of free time before lunch would be served, time to relax, and unwind. Dorian picked out a towering plane tree, probably older than the castle itself, and leaned against the gnarled, knotted trunk, breathing deeply. 

He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before looking towards his new… admirers? Was that what they were? Had he ever had those before?

“Not a corpse. Would begin to reek after a while, not sanitary in the least.” Dorian smiled easily, chuckling. “You draw their soul into a ceremonial skull and it speaks from the other side of the Veil, using the bones as a conduit.

“And you’re welcome. Perhaps I should’ve given him a bit more of a show. I don’t think Heritia will be too much of a bother now.”

“He pissed himself,” Erend cackled. “I feel like an idiot for being afraid of him. Months he’s been picking on us.” 

“He didn’t like that we were in his class. Makes him look remedial,” Lethina grinned behind her hand. “ _You_ made him look downright childish. That shield!”

“Yes, how did you summon that shield? The one that glittered? That wasn’t a normal spirit shield, was it?”

“It’s a modification of my own design. Thought the regular fare seemed a bit dull. I’m glad you noticed. I could show you if you have some spare time. Not today, though. I’ve done enough showing off for one morning.” He smiled, resting an elbow behind his head, breathing in the fresh, salty air. The city was close and the sea beyond. Sometimes, when the wind blew in from the east, he could taste the brine. “I’m Dorian. Dorian Pavus, of Qarinus. Though I haven’t been there in some time. I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

“Likewise,” Lethina dipped a curtsy as Erend shifted his satchel and asked, “Tomorrow? There’s a break between afternoon prayers and calligraphy.”

“Eager,” Dorian chuckled. “I admire your initiative. Tomorrow it is. Though I’d ask something in return now if you don’t mind?”

They looked at each other, shrugged, and looked back to him. “There’s probably not much we can teach you, but…”

“Leth’s a fair hand at jewel work?” Erend suggested.

“No,” she demurred. “That’s my father’s practice.”

“Ah, being known by your father’s reputation? I know a thing or two about that.” Dorian sighed, casting her a sympathetic look. “Nothing of that sort. You might have noticed I haven’t been here long. I just want information. People I should watch out for, people who might be trustworthy, people who aren’t. I can take care of myself, but I don’t like being surprised.” 

“Well, you met Heritia,” Lethina shrugged. “He’s pretty annoying. And weirdly good at calligraphy? He runs with a few blue bands. They’re all pretty much in Professor Wrest’s private study program. And-“

“Jekeb and Sevine Illenus are good at water-working. They helped us study for an exam a few months back. We can introduce you.”

“Thank you,” he said nodding. “I’d like that. Do you know anything about the prefects? It seems most of the others tend to avoid them.”

Erend wrinkled his nose. “Yes. Well. You know. You went to the Praeceptor, for protecting me.” He flexed his hands on the leather strap of his bag. “They’re his eyes and ears. And one of them is always waiting for you when you get punished. Some of them lecture you after. They’re all-”

“Terrible,” Lethina shivered. “They’re awful. Lamonis walked me back to the dorms after I got lashed and he kept poking my back.”

“I heard it’s a fast track to the Archon’s guard,” Erend sniffed. “But they’re… weird. They’re all weird.”

“Low aspirations in this lot, eh?” Dorian chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Why settle for a guard position, when you could have the throne?”

Lethina laughed, rolling her eyes. “Right. Like any of us could ever- I mean, Archon Radonis is-“ she widened her eyes, “He turned the sea inside out.”

“Such a limited imagination in such a clever young woman! Don’t let them tell you what is and what isn’t possible. That’s no way to realize your true potential.” Dorian sighed, leaning back, looking up at the branches. “You know, they’ll tell you you can’t, until you start to believe it, and then you’ll never even bother trying. You’ve already lost. Magic is about _willpower_ at its core. If you don’t think you can do something, you’ll never succeed.

“Think of all of the laws that govern this realm. Do _any_ of them apply in the Fade? Time and space, gravity, even _matter_ are all constructs there, playthings for dreamers and spirits to craft by wishing it so. And we draw upon that energy, bring pieces of it into this world. I believe we haven’t even scratched the surface on what’s possible.”

She covered her mouth, her eyes brightening. “I want to ask the soul in the skull so many questions.” 

“Shh, don’t give away my secrets,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I don’t want a flock of necromancers running about, threatening to make me piss myself.”

She giggled, delighted, and shook her head quickly. “Never. I cross my heart. Your secrets are safe with us. Right, Erend?”

He nodded, hugging his satchel. “As long as you teach us the shield.”

“Of course. I don’t give my word lightly. We can start tomorrow.” He opened an eye, grinning down at them. “Is there anything else I should be wary of?”

Erend nibbled at the back of his thumb. “Don’t let the blue bands or the prefects catch you breaking any of the rules. They count heads at prayers, so don’t skip those. Professor Kailish and Professor Bin will give private instruction if you impress them enough.” He glanced at Lethina. “Can you think of anything?”

She shrugged. “Like what?”

“I’m intrigued by what you said earlier about the prefects,” Dorian said, trying to keep his expression neutral. “The one who met me at the Praeceptor’s office yesterday didn’t seem all bad. Offered me elfroot and told me to keep my head down.”

They looked at each other. Lethina twisted her hair around her finger. “Maecilia?” she asked, hushed. 

“That was the name, I believe.”

“He _has_ to behave,” Erend whispered. “I heard one of his rings has some kind of rune on it that shocks him if he starts to lose it.”

“He’s crazy,” Lethina glanced around. “He killed his parents. He’s been here since he was a kid. His uncle negotiated it so he wouldn’t go to prison.”

“He’s like a wild dog. I heard he tore someone’s arm off a few years ago.”

“Sawed it off,” Lethina corrected. “Used it for some kind of blood magic experiment in the library. He’s always in there.”

“Interesting…” Dorian’s mouth formed a thin line. “I suppose looks can be deceiving. I could have sworn he seemed a decent fellow.”

Lethina shook her head. “I thought that, too. He warned me about the black box. But I heard after that the Praeceptor _wants_ people to know about it. Deterrent. It’s all scare tactics. Giovanni said he doesn’t sleep; he’s always out roaming the castle and he keeps a list of everyone he catches, so you never know when he’ll turn you in.” She frowned. “All the prefects are strange, don’t get me wrong. But most of us are here because we needed…”

“‘A different environment’,” Erend muttered.

“We’re not _murderers_. Killers aren’t supposed to be mixed in with the rest of us.”

“Or crazy people. I wrote to my mother, but she said if they keep him under control, I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I worry,” Lethina murmured.

“Try not to,” he said softly, his eyes looking over the tops of their heads. “It’s not worth it to live your life looking over your shoulder. Chances are Prefect Maecilia has no interest in either of you.”

“That’s the thing about blood magic and insanity,” Erend shivered. “We’re all disposable. Tools. It doesn’t matter if he knows who we are.”

“Did you know anyone he’s hurt?” Dorian asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Other than by tattling on errant apprentices? I want to know how serious of a threat he is.”

Erend bit his lip. “Well. No. But he probably makes their names disappear from our minds when he kills them.”

“Enthralling the entire castle to the point that not a soul can even recall his crimes? Maybe they should make him Archon.” Dorian laughed, his smile lighter than he felt. “Quite the feat, if you ask me.”

Lethina frowned. “He’s _not_ very good at casting.”

“Blood magic weakens your connection to the Veil,” Erend shook his head. 

She tilted her head. “But-“

“Why does it matter?” He looked behind him nervously. 

“Idle curiosity,” Dorian said, scratching his chin absently. “He was the first person who spoke to me after four days of silence. I was interested in trying to find out why he bothered.”

“You know us now.” Lethina patted his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Dorian smiled, placing his hand over hers, charmed by her forthrightness and bright-eyed curiosity. It _was_ refreshing to speak outside of closed doors, in the sunlight. To be spoken to. Possibly even admired.

As if signaled by his thoughts, a bell clanged and Dorian sighed, stretching out his legs against the trunk of the tree. “I suppose we’d better be off. More drudgery on the horizon. I feel like my thighs are going to become as thick as this tree from all of the damned praying.”

“Knee pads,” Lethina suggested. 

Erend rolled his eyes, “If they catch us.”

“They haven’t caught me,” she smirked. “You need to work on your Wicked Grace face.”

“Come along, don’t want to keep our beloved Praeceptor waiting,” Dorian said, striding across the manicured lawn as though he owned it, turning back to throw a wink behind him.

* * *

The Order or Argent, for all their flaws, apparently held education - or at least the collection of educational materials - in almost as high of esteem as their prayers. The library was enormous, with high domed ceilings and shafts of sunlight beaming down into the space through ornate stained glass. And every wall had shelves up to the rafters, filled to brimming with scrolls and tomes. A portion of those shelves appeared to be caged, with heavy locks in place, but many were open and accessible by several connecting ladders and a fascinating system of moveable, rotating stairs. There were clusters of students hunkered down together at the broad work tables between the main collections of shelves, but down each row, there were smaller tables as well, with small benches and the occasional stool haphazardly strewn about. 

It was in one of those small nooks, under an arch of dusty tomes, that he located Rilienus. He was tucked onto a short stool, heels perched on his seat, squinting at a scroll that he held close to his face in the candlelight. 

Dorian cleared his throat quietly, in reverence for their surroundings, and leaned against a nearby shelf, smiling cheekily. He twirled the tips of his mustache; there hadn’t been time to properly arrange it after his swim. A pity.

“Excuse me, Prefect?” Dorian said, his voice a low murmur. “I was wondering if you could help me locate a volume? I believe it’s called the _Sanguinem Daemoniorum_? I’m doing a bit of light reading.”

Rilienus glanced up, narrowed his eyes further, and looked back to his scroll. “I see you’ve been hard at work gathering intelligence.” He sniffed. “Belatedly.”

Dorian chuckled, looking down at him. The way the candlelight illuminated his skin… He wished the alcove was a bit more private so that he could see more of it.

“So, you’ve been stalking the halls, scaring children?” Dorian tutted. “Unexpected, I’ll admit.”

“Children scare easily. Men, too.” He licked his quill and made a note. “Women are braver. Or more curious.” 

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve much experience with women, then? Scaring them or… otherwise?”

“I shouldn’t think that would be your concern.” Rilienus sighed, looking up. “And I don’t think you need me to give you any lessons, especially not on fear. You appear to have that subject well covered.” He frowned, “What do you want.”

“Always with the charade.” Dorian smiled, grabbing a nearby chair and pulling it towards the table, sitting on it backward. “Are you going to make me say it out loud?”

“That you’re a fool?” He shifted his scroll to the side and leaned over his notes. “It would be nice to hear that admission.”

“What did you expect me to do? I could barely cast! Blighter fucked with my staff.” His voice was a clipped whisper. “I took care of him.”

“You did nothing of the sort. You embarrassed him, which is worse than burning for his sort. And you showed off doing it. Arrogant.” He shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. “I expect nothing. You have a death wish. Best of luck.”

His heart dropped like iron towards his feet, throat burning. It hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected at all. Hurt, how could he already _wound_ with a look and a few sharp words? Dorian turned away. 

“I’m not going to let that piece of shit get away with terrorizing people any longer,” Dorian grumbled. “And I’m not going to be made an example of.”

“That’s exactly what you’ve done.” Rilienus cracked open one eye. “And made more enemies beyond him. Or are you so captivated by your reflection that you can’t see that?”

“What would you have _had me do_?”

“It’s not for me to have you do anything.”

“Humor me.”

He frowned, glancing down the row of shelves, then leaned forward, “You have your wards. You let him think he’s won. You let him gloat. And then you end it, quietly, without being so damned flashy and obvious. If they know you’ve done it, you’ve done it wrong.”

“Is that why there are rumors you’ve hacked people to pieces and… I don’t know, I wasn’t paying close attention if I’m perfectly honest, the stories were all ludicrous. You’ve built quite the reputation for yourself.”

Rilienus leaned back, rolling the quill between his fingers. “Why ludicrous? You don’t think I can hack someone into pieces?”

“Physical capability has nothing to do with it.” Dorian frowned, staring at the feather in Rilienus’ hand. “No. I don’t think you did. Not for a moment.”

He hummed low. “So perhaps not that. Always hide the truth in a bed of lies. Your second lesson.”

“I’m flattered you care enough to be angry. You’re quite the sight when you’re calling me an imbecile and telling me I know nothing of your world.”

“You are and you don’t. Not my world. Not me.” He plucked up a penknife and began sharpening his quill. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you gad about trusting people like a baby bird.”

“That should please you,” Dorian said, pressing his hands flat on the surface of the table. “Then I wouldn’t be bothering you anymore.”

“I don’t care enough to be bothered.” He frowned, slicing at the tip. “Nor to be angry. I’m apathetic.”

Dorian moved his hand, as though he wanted to touch him, but placed it back down on the table and stared at his palm. He could hide the injury on his face, but his voice wavered ever so slightly, betraying his emotions. “If you don’t care, then why have you warned me that I’m going to get myself killed at least a half dozen times in the last day? Why waste your breath?”

“I told you before. I’m bored. Hideously bored. And I have breath to spare.” He snapped the knife and hissed as it bit into his thumb. “ _Kaffas_ ,” he shook his hand, catching his thumb between his lips.

“Rilienus,” his voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. He edged his hand closer. “Why do you keep trying to push me away?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked, scowling at his bleeding digit. “Why don’t you _let me_ , for the Maker’s sake? I’m a monster.” He looked up sharply, “And you are… not safe.”

“You’re not and so be it. I can take care of myself.”

“You bloody well cannot. As demonstrated.” 

“If you want me to leave, then fucking _say_ it,” Dorian said, his heart pounding in his chest. “Stop dancing around the words and tell me to get lost. And that it didn’t mean _anything._ Just like the rest of them.”

“The rest of who?”

“You don’t _care._ Why should I tell you anything?”

“You’re ugly and stupid and exceedingly dull.” Rilienus set his pen knife down and leaned forward on the table. “Tell me your secrets.”

“Fuck off,” Dorian snapped, pushing himself off the table. The stool clattered to the ground underneath him, but he didn’t stop to pick it up. “Come find me when you’re done being such an ass. Or not.”

“Pavus,” he rose. “Don’t-“ he growled under his breath. “Dorian.” 

“No,” he said over his shoulder as he gathered up the hem of his Blighted robe and turned to go. “You don’t get to use me as your punching bag because you’re unwilling to live your own life.”

“I don’t-“ He heard a quiet swear, then a hand wrapped around his bicep. “Just hold still, would you?”

“Oh, _now_ you’re going to be genuine?”

“Perish the thought.” He whistled softly under his breath and the candles around them snuffed out. “Who hurt you?”

“Who hasn’t? Are we done here?”

“Not quite.” In the shadows, the reddish tinge in the right of Rilienus’s eyes looked like blood. He cupped Dorian’s chin and frowned. “Don’t move.” He held out his hand and whistled again, barely a sound. A tiny bob of blue light flickered out of the darkness and landed on his thumb where it bled, then flickered to Dorian’s cheek, dissipating into a mist. The sting from his cut faded as the darkness closed around them again. “Can’t be sinning against the Maker.” He dropped his hands. “Go on, then.”

“Is that what you want?” His hand traced the line where the shard of ice had lacerated his skin, now knit together perfectly, flawless flesh, unmarred. “Truly?”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “You’re right to go. It’s nice to see a little self-preservation lingering in you, after all. Fan that flame, won’t you?”

“I thought you didn’t care. You’ve said so repeatedly. What am I to think?”

“Everyone lies.” Rilienus looked at him. “Words mean nothing, outside of a spell. And even then, they’re rarely necessary. Poison and pageantry.” His brows drew together and he scraped his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why I tell you these things; I don’t know why I tell you _anything_. I don’t want to.”

“Another lie. You know why.” Dorian stared into the vast expanse of his eyes. He could get lost in them, never find his way out again, if he lingered. “You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

“Have I not?”

“It’s a message that bears repeating,” he said, breath catching in his throat. “Endless repeating.”

He watched him swallow. Watched him dab his tongue to his lips. His fingers brushed the line of Dorian’s jaw. “You’re hideous,” he murmured. “You’re the most grotesque man I’ve ever seen. Especially this,” he thumbed his mustache. “The worst.” He tilted his head to the side. “You’re cold and might well be dead inside. You make me feel like I’m dying. You’re dull and talentless. And I’m terribly sorry that you’re here.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, moving a step closer, dangerously close, even with the lights dimmed. “Then how could it possibly be that you want me so badly?”

“I have a theory about one of your little trinkets.”

“Mmm, have you in my thrall, do I?” His voice was a steady murmur, laughter and longing. “What other infractions can I compel you to commit?”

Rilienus huffed a laugh under his breath, dropping his gaze. He brushed tentative fingers over his hand. “I’d guess that depends on the spell you used.” He exhaled, his shoulders sinking. “I pray that you are what you seem.”

Dorian laced their fingers together, squeezing him gently, before letting his hand slip away again. “And what is it I seem like to you?”

“Real,” he murmured, frowning.

Dorian smiled at him, running his hand along the soft flesh of his cheek. “Pray hard enough, Rilienus, and perhaps the Maker will tell you what I am.”

“He’s shown me you’re dangerous.”

“No, my dear. _I_ showed you I’m dangerous.”

“Who do you think created you?” Rilienus lifted a brow. “What moved you through your life until you were here? The wind? Tiny causative breezes, wafting from Andraste’s robes eons ago.”

“Oh, spare me the sermon, Father Maecilia. Unless you’ll have me confess my sins.”

“Would you? You’re the one telling me to pray.” He glanced up from beneath his lashes, “Or was that your way of asking me to kneel?”

Dorian felt the blood rush to his cheeks, hot and unbidden. Why did he need to be so damned difficult? And in _public_? “It wouldn’t be my fault if you took it that way. And I wouldn’t correct you, either.” Dorian chuckled uncomfortably, hiding the flush of his face behind a hand. “But here isn’t the proper place for such discussions.”

“Not my first choice, no.” He stepped back, slipping his hands behind his back. “Someone insisted I stop ‘dancing around’ with my words.”

“Then why are we still here?” Dorian looked at him expectantly, a smile spreading across his lips. “I was hoping you’d have dragged me into some empty classroom by my collar already.”

“You could have said. Saved me the trouble of being genuine.”

“But you’re so lovely when you’re sincere. It’s such a rare treasure. I feel like I’ve won a victory by digging it out of you.”

“Tricks and trinkets,” he muttered, retreating to the table. “I’m beginning to reconsider the benefits of hacking off limbs.”

“I want you, you unbearable boor. You’re so bloody difficult.” Dorian sighed, exasperated. “I want you, as close to ‘now’ as we can manage, and for as long as we can get away with.”

Rilienus looked up at him wide-eyed. “Keep your voice down,” he lifted his brows. “And help me carry these, won’t you?” He rolled up one of his scrolls. “By the Maker, how have you managed to survive this long?”

“Usually my wit and charm are enough to get me by. And money. Lots of it. I’m an expensive investment; just ask my father.”

“Did he abscond with your wit and charm when he stole your pocket money?” Rilienus smirked, stacking scrolls. “How devastating for you.”

“Maybe he did,” Dorian said, taking the pile of papers into his arms. “And it’s why I find myself so interested in you.”

“I thought that was your fascination with tarnishing medals.” He slipped his penknife into a leather holder and dropped it into his satchel, hooking it over his shoulder and gathering the remainder of the scrolls. “A feat you’ve still failed to accomplish.”

“Hmmph,” Dorian snorted. “I’ve barely begun to try.”

“And yet you managed to electrify a room with your little finger.” 

“Would you like to learn what else I can do with my little finger?” Dorian turned, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “I’ll give you a lesson if you behave.”

“I always behave,” he eyed him archly, then he paused, closing his eyes, and rolling his shoulders back. His expression smoothed, his back straightened, and he whistled the flames back to their wicks. “Follow me.” 


	4. in embalmed darkness

##  Rilienus 

His heart was a solid hammer in his chest. His palms felt too dry for the heat as they stepped outside. Cold sweat on his spine as the setting sun washed the world in red and burned the day down. The world. The world was burning and so was he. 

‘I want you,’ Dorian had said  _ aloud _ , risking them both. Risking them again and again. ‘I want you.’ He felt feverish, cold and hot, aching. The way he’d said it. The way he spoke his  _ name _ like he was tasting it. Tasting him through the syllables.

He yearned to glance back over his shoulder; to soak in the sharp angles of his face in this light, to search that expression that seemed to shift endlessly, revealing his thoughts from moment to moment. What did he look like now? What was he thinking? Each slap of Dorian’s sandals against the marble sent a roll of tremors through him as he led the way past students and teachers, his arms full of arcane theory and incomplete histories. What did they see? Could they see that want on Dorian’s face as Rilienus had? Was the same fierce, satisfied pleasure still emblazoned in his eyes? 

Either it wasn’t, or no one bothered to look close enough to see, as no one stopped them on their way through the passage from one courtyard to another, down past the gardens and around behind the Chantry. Inside the Chantry proper, the priests were preparing for the last rites of the day, busily sweeping and shining and lighting and dousing. In the gathering shadows behind, he nudged the door to the small storage building open with his shoulder and looked back across the trees, their white flowers sanguine with the reflection of the sky. He set his scrolls down carefully on a canvas-covered table by the door and shifted a barrel of rice in front of it. 

A ragged, unfiltered sigh echoed in his ears as he pressed his forehead to the coarse wood of the door- then he realized the sigh was his own. He’d been holding his breath. Listening, watching, wishing he could see- And now that he could, he was afraid to look. What expression would be writ on those sculpted features now, in relative privacy, and what passed for safety? Would he be gloating over how quickly he’d bent Rilienus to his will? Devising his next demands? Revolted by his weakness? 

He  _ was _ dangerous, not in the way he thought. Or maybe in exactly the way he thought. Did he understand his power lay not in his connection to the Fade, but in his eyes and his mouth and the tightening of his jaw when he was getting ready to pounce or quip? He must. He had to; otherwise, how did he use them to such effect? 

He’d been so… hurt. Frustrated, yes, that had been expected; there was always an element of frustration to being denied, whatever the reason. But the hurt- Rilienus hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected that was something he could do by accident. It could have been an act. All of it might well be an act. All of him. A better performance than he’d previously been witness to. ‘That it didn’t mean anything.’ The souring of that voice that sang like wine being decanted and made his tongue taste just as sweet. 

Wasn’t that the point? That it never meant anything? That nothing did? No words, no signals, nothing- Friends, lovers, family. Loyalty. Honesty. Justice. All of it, everything, lies compounding over a single truth. The Maker had made them all, built them out of golden bricks and the stuff of dreams- then he’d abandoned that golden city and what remained was black and empty. All his creations. Pieces of hollow stone on a massive board, trying to win a game without end. But he could hear the memory of his heartbreak in Dorian’s words, in his voice, and it felt so familiar he’d nearly wept for the first time in years. He’d wanted to wrap Dorian in silk batting and tuck him on a high shelf to protect him from the elements. 

If he meant what he said. If he was what he seemed. If he was real. If he was true. What a precious, impossible thing that would be. Unique. As endangered as it was dangerous. 

He rolled on his shoulder, turning and reaching out to cup the back of Dorian’s neck and draw him in, not daring to look for the lies that had to be resting in his brow or the crease of his eyes. Not yet. Later. He’d look for them later when he remembered that he wanted to survive. When the length of his life mattered more than feeling as though he were alive. He moaned low in his throat and caught Dorian’s lips with his own, tasting him again, his tongue- He backed the man across the storeroom, against the far shelf beside the crates of incense where the altar cloths would return after the evening prayers. Prayer. He shuddered, stroking a hand up Dorian’s side to feel the frame of his body and the shape of his ribs beneath the robes. “I do want you,” he whispered. “I do.” 

“Real,” Dorian murmured, his lips on that tender patch of skin just below Rilienus’ ear. “You wish for me to be  _ real _ ?” He drew back, his eyes holding the grief he somehow managed to keep from his voice. “Sometimes I feel as though I’m the only thing in this world that’s real. I wish I weren’t. I wish I was the pretty, porcelain doll my parents’ wanted instead of flesh and bone with needs and wants and dreams of my own. I wish that the way I felt when yet another sweet face with empty promises shoved me out of his office as soon as I’d finished on his cock had been feigned. I wish that I hadn’t allowed myself to be used, over and over again, just to feel the warmth of someone else’s skin against my own.”

His words lit small fires in all the crooks and crevices. He was reminded of the ozone that had washed through the dueling hall that morning, setting his teeth on edge and making his skin feel tight and elastic at the same time. More familiar refrains. 

Dorian pressed his head against Rilienus’ chest, as though he was seeking his protection. “How could you know me for more than a minute and think I’m anything but  _ real _ ? If I weren’t, would I have been so foolish? Would I be here, begging for you to just see me as I  _ am _ , not as who I might be? Ril, I want you, too.”

Rilienus stared down at the top of his head, bewildered as much by his admissions as by his use of that diminutive. 

“That damned smirk,” he continued. “That feigned nonchalance. Actually  _ telling  _ me that I’m an ignorant fool as opposed to just letting me drown in my own mistakes. I don’t know what I want from you. I know the question must be burning you up on the inside. I… Maybe I  _ do  _ know. To care and be cared for in return. Not love. Even I’m not stupid enough to hope for that. But… For something  _ real _ . Whatever that something may be.”

Rilienus sighed against his hair, the short banked curls ruffling his lips and itching his nose. “Care,” the word slithered from him, whispered and unbidden, as he wrapped his arms around Dorian’s bowed back. It was a child’s word. Care. Love. Wish. Hope. All of them, distant dreams of concepts. He wasn’t even sure what caring  _ meant _ , the word as Dorian seemed to mean it- what it was supposed to be or look like. He’d certainly never been accused of caring, by any definition. Other things, certainly, but not that. Desire. Foolishness. Treachery. Yes, all that and more. 

To care and have it returned? Weakness compounded? With no other goal? Only that? He frowned, tracing Dorian’s spine through his robes. Mutually assured destruction. Why would anyone want that? To what end? 

Could Dorian hear his heart racing and stumbling behind his ribs?

It was enough to wonder if Dorian was genuine. But that he would ask for that?  _ Could _ ask for that? Could dare to? 

Something real. An exchange for the sake of the exchange. 

Pretty words. Convincing ones. But words were lies. Weren’t they? Most. Were these true? Was he? Was this a gifted manipulation? The words, the tone, the mild tremble beneath his fingers. He had no frame of reference, no context beyond what Dorian himself told him. This… outlier. This tangent. He was a fragment of a myth, a page loose from its bindings. Sidereal, not solar. 

What-

He touched Dorian’s chin, tilting his face up. In the dark, he could trace the outline of his cheek, the sweep of the curl over his brow. His eyes were pools of precious ink and trapped starlight. “Dorian…” His voice was rougher than he would have liked. “You don’t have to-“ He brushed his thumb across Dorian’s lower lip, kissing the flattened curl of his mustache. “Maybe you are,” he whispered, “or maybe you’re up to something. Either way, I’m here in the dark, with you, being a fool.”

“I do have to.” Dorian’s voice was nearly breaking, shattering from the weight of his words. His eyes were pools of moonlight, shades rippling and evanescent. “You wanted my secrets? You have them now. I want you to stay with me, in the dark, being a fool. I’m so bloody tired of being alone.”

Echoes and aches. He kissed the corner of his lips, the side of his chin. “Touch me,” he murmured. Was that all? Did it even qualify as a secret? There had to be more. There had to be. There always was. And yet- “Just- Kiss me. Touch me. I’m tired, too. I-“ He caught Dorian’s hand and guided it to the back of his neck, his pulse drumming in his ears as his breath caught. Hands on his skin. Breath on his cheek. His lips trembled against Dorian’s, betraying him, but it was too late. He was already risking too much. Revealing too much. What was one more indiscretion? One more sliver of his weakness amidst the rest? “Please.”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,” Dorian’s voice resounded like a thunderclap in the silent room, his fingertips already tangling in the folds of the back of Rilienus’ robes, hands shaking, shivering, equal parts afraid and hungry. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Dorian conformed to him, their bodies intersecting, the hard muscles under his skin as soft as the finest silk. He ran a smooth cheek against Rilienus’, the tips of their noses touching. He smelled like cloves and anise, whiskey, and wine, even though the only alcohol they were permitted was the tiny sips of cheap wine they were given during their evening prayers. 

He felt Dorian’s hands slip lower to his waist, encircling him. His touches were delicate, at odds with the power Rilienus and the rest of his peers now knew he wielded. Dorian lingered, his lips a hair’s breadth away, compelling him to cross the final distance of his own volition. To make the choice for himself, one final chance to deny him. To succumb or walk away. To capitulate or rebuke. To give in to his desires or bury them. 

Too late, he thought wildly. Didn’t he see it was already too late to go back? He surged forward, pressing the line of their bodies flush against the shelf, and kissed him again. The feel of him. The taste of his lips. He pressed at his chin with his thumb, begging with touch until Dorian’s lips parted and he could lose himself in the taste of him. He was delicate here, too- his tongue slipping against Rilienus’, slick and warm and… whiskey again. His brows drew together, even as he slipped his hand back to cup the back of Dorian’s neck. Fine hairs beneath his fingertips, Dorian’s shoulder muscles shifting under his palm. He breathed, breaking, and swallowed. “Alright?”

“Only if you keep kissing me.” Dorian’s voice was a low purr, his eyes still closed in pleasure, a rumble in his chest that Rilienus could feel through his robes. Stroking his sides, tickling him, pulling him as close as physically possible. The cloth did little to hide Dorian’s arousal, he realized, his furious passion, his suppressed need. 

That, at least, was real. “Dorian,” he groaned low in his throat and rocked his hips forward, leaning his thigh into that welcome heat and pressure. He’d ached before, but that firm press called to his pulse and sped it. “Whiskey?” he asked, panting. 

“Are you trying to unravel all of my secrets in a day?” Dorian smiled against his lips; he could feel the corners of his mouth crinkling. “Perhaps I want to remain a delicious, seductive mystery for just a while longer.”

He laughed, quiet and helpless, and rubbed their lips together, feeling Dorian’s meticulously groomed mustache catch against his simple scruff. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” he murmured, his hands sliding lower, down his backside. “I want you to know me.”

Horrifying. Rilienus swallowed, searching his eyes in the dark. “Don’t. Don’t want that.” He kissed him hard, “No one should. You need to protect yourself. Maker’s sake.” He tightened his jaw against the unfamiliar feel of tears heating his eyes. As though accepting one set of senses had unbound them all. He dragged a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have asked. The less I know, the safer you are.”

Dorian drew back, his eyes wide and searching. He caressed Rilienus’ cheek with the pad of his thumb. His voice was crystalline, fragile, tenuous, but sparkling and brilliant. “Safe from what, pray tell? Safe from the thrill of having someone finally understand me? From the unknowable future? From an existence that’s full of passion and fury and fulfillment? That’s not the sort of safety I’m after. I’ll take the risk of betrayal over that. It’s worth it to me.”

“I don’t think you’re ‘after’  _ any _ safety. I don’t want to hurt you,” he leaned into Dorian’s touch. “I want other things. I want-”

“If you don’t wish to hurt me, then  _ don’t _ . Just be with me. And tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you, whatever it is if it’s within my power to grant.”

“I don’t know that you can- Feeling alive… is difficult.” He pressed his lips together. “I’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was.” Maker, it was. Uncomfortable. Painful. Aches. Fevers. His lungs felt too tight for breath. His heart too heavy. “Not forgotten. Ignored. Made myself-” He sighed sharply. Some magic, some poison, some rune stitched somewhere in his robes- Something in the directness of his gaze, the honesty there- Was it? Was- “I don’t know how much of it I want back, Dorian. I don’t know how much I can stand to feel again. If I can parse it- If I can want you and leave the rest-”

“Look at me.” He cupped both of his cheeks in those flawless, elegant hands. “It hurts. I know it does. I bloody well do. But there’s also nothing sweeter, nothing in the world. I want to help you feel again if you’ll let me. I want you to try. And it’s selfish and cruel to ask it of you. I  _ know _ it is. I’m asking anyway. I want you. All of you. Even now, not knowing what that means.”

“You wouldn’t ask if you did.” Rilienus turned his face to kiss one of those palms, to feel the warmth of it against his lips. The prickle of power that still hovered, even now, hours after he’d thrust a lightning storm into being. “I’m very fond of your hands.”

“Thank you.” Dorian shook his head, sighing. “But why must you say things like that about yourself? I’ve got a mind of my own, as flawed as you think it is. I can make that discernment.”

“Maker’s breath,” he shook his head, summoning a pale moonglow from the ring on his thumb as he traced the ridge of Dorian’s brow, illuminating their faces just barely. Just enough to see him, to see his eyes, to study the steel there. “I see very well that you- I don’t think your mind is flawed. Your common sense. Your self-preservation. Both require a team of tutors. Your mind is crystalline, like your shields.” He frowned. “Your mind is-” He hesitated. “You’re gifted. You don’t need me to say that.”

“Don’t need it, no. I’m well aware of my finer qualities.” He took Rilienus’ hand in his own, bringing it to those fine, full lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, sweet as honey and soft as a butterfly’s wing. “I like to hear it from you, though. Would you like me to return the favor?”

“What do you know about me you could say?” he asked, tension buzzing around his heart. “That I scare children well? That I haven’t turned you into the Praeceptor yet?” He smirked, trying to regain his equilibrium. “That I like you? I suppose that’s my finer quality, in your estimation?”

“One of them, certainly,” Dorian chuckled, his gaze softening along with his voice. “Shows you have good taste, at the very least. That wasn’t what I was going to say, though.”

“What, then?”

“You’re kind. Generous. And braver than you’d admit.” Dorian smiled, tender kisses punctuating each admission. “Thanks for the plum. It was almost as sweet as kissing you.” He paused, as though he was gauging a reaction, searching for something in his face. “There’s more too. An acerbic wit as sharp as any dagger. And I was told that you had little talent for casting. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not true. You’re clever, a survivor. You keep telling me to keep my head down, not make a fuss, for fear it’ll get lopped off. I imagine you’ve been doing just that for a very, very long time. Long enough that nobody here knows of your true power. But that’s just an assumption. You can correct me if I’m wrong. Or not. I don’t mind if you keep a few things to yourself.”

“You make a lot of assumptions. Have you noticed that?” he asked softly. Worse. Worse than he’d thought. Showing far too much. Then again, any one of his revelations might well be enough to undo him. He pressed his lips together, brows drawing together. His cheeks felt hot. Undone. Unraveling. He swallowed. “I’m not clever enough to hide it. Or you’re too clever for my facade. Which is it, do you think?” 

“Doesn’t matter, now, does it,  _ mon secret _ ? The result is the same.”

“It matters,” he frowned. “If other people can see through me, it matters. You-” He glanced away, “I don’t mind if you can.”

“They can’t. And if they do…” Dorian kissed his brow, inhaling deeply. “If they do, we fight them together. And I’ll try to keep from turning this entire place into rubble on your behalf.”

“Do you think you could?” Rilienus asked quietly, his pulse thrumming at the thought of him tearing the walls down stone by stone, watching them shatter. Yearning and terror. He met Dorian’s gaze, “What is it? What is it about you? I-” He kissed his lips one by one, sighing. “I’m glad you liked the plum.” He nudged Dorian’s nose with his own. “Peaches tomorrow. Too big for sleight of hand.” He lifted his brow, “There are trellises in the lower garden. I could leave you one there.”

“Gifts and more gifts; I’m slipping farther into your debt and all I’ve given you in return is words.”

“I don’t want your debt.” He dabbed his tongue to his lips. “Better if I give it to you, so you don’t try to get one for yourself and get caught in the process. I can’t kiss you if you’re locked in a box.”

“Don’t get caught on my account, Rilienus.” His look was sharp and serious. “As much as I’ve teased you about your position, I must admit it could be useful. You’re safer. Privileged. I don’t want you to suffer because of me. Give me your word.”

“As much as that’s worth,” he murmured. Concern for the loss of that useful position? Or for him? “Say my name again? I’ll consider it.”

Dorian chuckled, nuzzling against his cheek. “Rilienus, Rilienus, Rilienus, Rilienus, my dear, I’d say it all day if you asked me to.”

“That  _ would _ get me into trouble,” he nipped at Dorian’s cheekbone lightly. “‘Why is that new fellow repeating the prefect’s name?’ ‘Ah, he’s been at his blood magic again. Warping minds. Soon he’ll deconstruct him.’ Did you know several of the gargoyles on the upper walk are my old enemies?” He kissed the side of his nose. “Would you like a view of the east or the west?”

“Neither. I’d rather you kept me in your chambers, as a personal token.” Fingers tangling in his hair. Smile curling his mustache. Eyes filled with light and laughter. “Best view in all of Minrathous.”

“You haven’t seen the view from my- ah.” He rolled his eyes, and this time he was certain the flush on his cheeks was visible. He twisted his ring, sinking them back into the dark. “Well. I suppose I could show you sometime. To make certain it suits.”

“Mmm… Perhaps… I might like that.” Dorian placed a hand on the back of his neck, drawing him closer for a kiss, open-mouthed and eager.

They lost themselves in the warmth of the moment, sweat starting to bead in the dark and breezeless room, bodies flush against one another, pushing and pulling, bending, and nudging. Each moment stretched into an eternity, but somehow still felt too short, insufficient. Only a taste of the eternal. Panting, breathless, smiling, murmured words and silent promises. 

Dorian drew back first, eyes still closed, his mustache hopelessly disheveled. 

“Ril… How much longer do you think we have before our absence is noted?”

“My fault. My fault for wishing for you to use some common sense,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand at the back of his neck and easing back. “Better to be cautious.” He smiled fleetingly. “The bells will ring soon. You should make certain you’re seen somewhere before. I’m sure you won’t have trouble with that. I’ll go to the Chantry to help them prepare the service.”

“When will I see you again?”

“On my pretty perch, no doubt.” He smoothed his fingers over Dorian’s mustache, setting it back to rights. “When did you wish to?”

“As often as I can. For as long as you can stand me.”

Rilienus exhaled, quick and light. “Have you seen the sunrise from the upper walk? It’s a nice place to practice staff work. Solitude. Contemplation.”

“Tomorrow?” 

“I thought we could make use of the ramparts while they’re still standing.”

He smiled warmly, wrapping his arms around Rilienus’ shoulders, holding him tightly. “Will you give me a glimpse into what you’ve been hiding? I could use the practice.”

“Under the Maker’s sun?” Rilienus widened his eyes, smirking. “We  _ are _ deviant, aren’t we?”

“Mmm… I was talking about dueling.” He chuckled, returning his coy smile. “But if you’re asking me if I would…” He winked. “I would.”

“You’re an influence, Dorian Pavus,” he murmured, thumbing his chin. “A strong one. Good or bad, I’m having a heartfelt debate over. Sunrise, then? I’ll make a valiant effort not to… fuck with your staff.”

“You’re a devil, you know that?” Dorian laughed, pushing him off the wall and kissing his hand one more time, lips velvet. “A beautiful, sharp-tongued, brilliant demon. And I like you. Too much. More than might be wise.”

“No wisdom here. None at all.” He backed away, turning to hide his smile as he went to move the rice barrel. “But that makes two of us. Two fools in the dark.” 

##  Dorian

He was floating, effervescent, gliding through the remainder of the evening as though the earth had been replaced with nebulous, shifting clouds. Dorian had managed to find Erend and Lethina before the bell tolled, hurriedly trying to finish an Imperial History assignment. He smiled at them, nodding when appropriate, offering little unless directly asked, his mind still firmly back in that barred storeroom, among the chalices and prayer rugs and rosaries. 

The entire time, in that gloriously private chamber, a part of him had been screaming, begging himself not to get involved. Better not to make any connections. He’d be gone soon enough. No tearful goodbyes. No fond embraces. Out, out, out from under Magister Halward’s thumb. Out into the real world, bursting at the seams with opportunity. Away from the stifling cloak of responsibility that had been wound around him, suffocating him, from the moment he’d been born. 

This would be the last Circle. He would make it so. If he had to run and hide and glance over his shoulder, so be it. Freedom, like everything else, had its costs. 

Was it worth trading the sound of his name on Rilienus’ lips? The look in Rilienus’ eyes when he was pretending not to care? The inevitable crush of their bodies when Rilienus finally gave in? All for a chance at a life unfettered?

Yes. Of course, it was. Absolutely. Without a doubt. Unequivocally. 

But just because the sands were slipping down the hourglass didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the headlong tumble into… 

The bells clanged. The students slowly shifted from their resting places in the courtyard, stretching out gawky too-long limbs. Lining up and filtering through, into the holiest of buildings, Andraste glaring down at them, judging them for their sins as they passed through mortar and stained glass.

Heads bowed as Father Vitus began to read from his sparkling podium, welcoming the Maker’s children into his light. They would be meditating on the Canticle of Transfigurations today. Open your books. 

Over the top of his pages, Dorian spied a head of dark curls, sitting near the front of the sanctuary. He was perfect, nodding when expected, bowing when expected, chanting, exhaling, inhaling. In every sense, Rilienus appeared to be a puppet on a string, dancing to the tune of his masters’ harp. But Dorian could see where Rilienus’ immaculate curls had been flattened by his tangling fingers. He wondered if his lips were still kiss-reddened, cheeks changing color to match at the Father’s mention of sin. 

Was he remembering the way it felt to be wanted, seen, known?

Dorian hoped he was. If not, he was an even greater fool than Rilienus had repeatedly told him he was.

“Page four-hundred and eighteen,” Vitus said, his voice snapping Dorian’s mind back into the world. “Prefect Maecilia has offered to read the verse for us.”

The Father stepped back, allowing Rilienus to approach the dais, every motion confident, assured, comfortable. He didn’t smile. There was no indication of their secret tryst, promises in the darkness. The mask was on again, which only made Dorian all the more eager to get him alone, to tear it away. 

“Many are those who wander in sin,” Rilienus intoned, his voice ringing through the silent chamber, the only other sound the light rustling of pages. “Despairing that they are lost forever.” 

Dorian nearly immolated when the prefect’s eyes found his. Only for a second, but long enough to stir his longing again. He wanted to call out, to shout down his hypocrisy, to scream out their secret, burning like a fire in his chest. Despair was the farthest thing from his mind. He didn’t mind being lost forever, not if it was in Rilienus’ touches.

“But the one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world,” Rilienus continued, either oblivious to the sea roiling in the pit of Dorian’s stomach or carefully hiding it.

“And boasts not, nor gloats-” Green, stern eyes capturing his again, pinning him in place. A tiny curl of a smile, almost imperceptible. It disappeared before he could even be sure it was there, as with Rilienus’ eyes. “-over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker’s law and creations…”

Wasn’t that what they were doing? They were both the Maker’s children. Was it sacrilege to worship each other? 

“She shall know the peace of the Maker’s benediction.”

Dorian bowed his head, seemingly in prayer, listening to the click of Rilienus’ sandals as he returned to his seat. If he watched him walk back, saw the length of his body, he knew he would lose it. 

Relations were discouraged. They were here to  _ learn _ , to  _ obey _ , not to fraternize. Still, the pupils had the hot blood of youth, under the hot summer sun. The Order mainly turned a blind eye, as long as affections remained tame and discrete, giving little more than a slap on the wrist and promises that the liaisons would stop if they were caught.

What he and Rilienus were doing was a different sort of danger. Not explicitly prohibited, but different. Their duty as Altus mages was to couple, under the sanctity of matrimony, and make more Altus mages. Deviants--and Rilienus was right, they both  _ were  _ deviants--were undesirable. Such urges needed to be controlled, stamped out. 

And the Order was there to do just that. Willfulness. Braggadocio. Non-conformity. Independence. Sin. All needed to be sanded down, their pupils polished, ready to go into the world and say the right words, do the right things, live only to enhance the Imperium’s might and splendor. 

Their sort of rebellion, the active flaunting of the Order’s ideals, was dangerous to the entire institution. They would react with a swift, decisive blow. Rilienus would be stripped of his accolades, tossed from his vaulted perch down to the masses below. There were plenty of other students who would delight in seeing a prefect fall, ready to pounce on his weakness. 

Dorian wouldn’t allow it. He’d caused this mess, dragged Rilienus towards him. There was no reason he needed to suffer. He liked him, damn it, and he liked how free he felt with him. Tearing down the Tower brick by brick to keep their secret safe. Rilienus had asked if he could. Dorian was more concerned about whether he could  _ hold back _ .

The rest of the sermon passed painfully slowly, the hours keeping him away from sunrise stretching interminably. Finally, blissfully, Father Vitus finished his long-winded speech about redemption, confession, admitting to sin, one that Dorian pointedly ignored.

The students flocked back to their rooms, giggling and pressing into each other, unperturbed by the Chantry’s promise of brimstone and condemnation.

Dorian didn’t see Rilienus again until he closed his eyes, falling into the warm embrace of sleep. 


	5. into the quiet air my breath (*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW (You know that Explicit tag on the whole thing? That applies here.)

## Dorian

A small buzzing on his left arm roused him from his slumber. Dorian blinked, bleary-eyed, the room still too dark to see distinct shapes. 

_Fasta vass, why…_

The realization came slowly, as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. He had a _date_ , of sorts, though, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to have it so early in the Blighted morning. 

He turned a gear on the dwarven timepiece, resetting it, the vibrations stopping instantly. His uniform was folded on the edge of his desk, where he’d left it the night before. He slipped the silk breeches on--nearly stumbling into the wall, still groggy from sleep--and threw his robe over his shoulders. 

A quick stop at the mirror to comb his hair and mustache and he felt largely satisfied, especially given the hour of the day.

Dorian was halfway to the door before he realized he’d forgotten his staff, leaning against the wall. He tiptoed back to collect it and his satchel. The focus was simple and wooden - Father wouldn’t let him bring anything with _actual_ power to the ‘den of brigands and ruffians’ - with a large sphere of silverite held in place by tendrils of carved wood.

A loud snore came from the top bunk; Cassius was still sleeping soundly and would probably remain so, even if a herd of druffalo stampeded through the dormitories. Still, Dorian opened the wooden door with a careful hand and slipped out into the still-dark grounds of the Tower.

The magelights that lit the halls were intermittent, leaving wide caverns of shadow between them. Dorian stepped lightly, trying to keep his sandals from clicking as he walked--a largely futile effort with the entire tower floored in marble--as he made his way through the lower corridors to the great staircase. 

He passed a few students seemingly on their way to the library, but they paid him little mind. They, like him, were still rubbing their eyes from sleep. He didn’t run into any of the faculty, nor the prefects, nor the blue bands that Lethina and Erend had warned him of the day before. 

Up and up he climbed, four flights of polished stairs. From the windows, he could see the manicured grounds below, the world taking on a soft blue-green in the early morning. He opened the glass door to the walkway and stepped out.

Rilienus was already waiting for him; he was perched, cross-legged, on one of the embrasures, his back ramrod straight, his features still as though carved as he stared - not into the courtyard below or the castle grounds, but out over the minarets and towers of Minrathous. “I wasn’t certain you’d come.” He didn’t look towards him but instead nodded towards the city. “I like to watch the lights go out.”

Dorian allowed his gaze to sweep over the skyline. Spires reached up towards the sky, threatening to pierce it. It was too far to see the details, but Dorian knew that most of them were decorated with stone dragons, protecting the occupants of the building from harm, drawing on the power of gods that few in the Imperium still worshipped.

“I thought I arrived rather early,” Dorian muttered, the company making him slightly less incensed that he was awake and moving about. He moved closer, resting an arm gently on the seated man’s shoulder. “How long have you been out here?”

“Not sure.” He glanced at Dorian’s arm, then looked back towards the city without comment. “I wonder how much it’s changed. There used to be a place near the high fountain that spun caramel on sticks. Plebeian.” His lips curved in a wistful smile. “I remember I loved that place.” His fingers brushed against the underside of Dorian’s wrist. “I’ve a fondness for caramel.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dorian grinned, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his head. His nose lost in the curls. Silver polish, beeswax, and ink. He smelled like he worked constantly, his labors seeping into his skin. “It’s still there, I believe. Been the same one for… a dozen years? I couldn’t say.”

“I hope it is.” He reached back, brushing his fingers over the back of Dorian’s neck. “l was experimenting with my shield. Would you mind taking a look?”

“What are you hoping for?” Dorian asked, extending a hand to help him up. He leaned on his staff, smiling. “Duration? Strength? Size? Transparency? Resistance type? Efficiency?”

“...Kinetic absorption.” Rilienus glanced at him sideways, lifting a brow as he collected his staff. It was a simple piece - smooth and worn with time, wrapped in silver wire with stained silk at each end. “And transference.”

He nodded, leaning on his staff. “Let’s see, then.”

Rilienus shifted on his feet, glancing towards the door; he settled the silvered, flat end of his staff to the stones between his feet and exhaled slowly, then lifted it to balance between his hands. Veins of power, like wisps of silver smoke, trickled from each end of the staff, weaving together to build a lazy, shimmering wall between them. “So?”

Dorian tilted his head, looking at the shield, contemplative. He moved towards the magical barrier, placing a hand near the surface to feel the mana undulating beneath his fingers. He looked up, meeting his eyes again, his view partially obscured by the shield.

“Interesting, yes, the manner in which you realigned your energy into a perpendicular mesh…” He ran his fingers across one of the tendrils, thinking. “I could see it being useful particularly for mana absorption. No need to over-expend to manifest a fully solid wall, as long as the particulates you’re trying to block are large enough… And the concomitant increase in surface area would allow you a massive expansion in transference compared to a standard shield. Plus, it looks like it wouldn’t do anything at all, which will allow you to be underestimated.” Dorian smiled, raising his eyebrows. “I’m sensing a theme.”

“Are you?” His palms fell away from the staff allowing it to hover before him; he brushed his hands through the space between them in a small circle, then flicked his fingers. The shield folded around Dorian like a quicksilver membrane as his staff tilted and twisted, tightening the hold of the tendrils around him. “Too predictable?”

Dorian grinned wildly, the promise of a challenge rendering him fully alert. “Ril, it’s a gorgeous manipulation. If I draw…” He allowed the smallest sliver of the Fade’s power to dribble through his fingers, barely perceptible. “Can you feel it?”

Rilienus’ eyelid twitched slightly, the slight curl of his lip an almost smile. “Like an itch.”

Dorian’s eyes widened with excitement. “You wouldn’t be able to with a normal shield. I barely gave you anything.” He stretched his fingers against the barrier. It resisted his movement, forming a tight seal against his body. “But… I think I have an idea of how to make it stronger. It shouldn’t take much more mana. Would you mind releasing me? Or am I going to have to untangle it myself?”

He tilted his head, considering, then tapped one end of his staff; it dropped and he caught it, spinning it over the back of his hand, and the shield fell away like mist. “I’d like to see you untangle it at some point. It would probably help.” He cupped his hands atop the staff. “What’s your idea?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re controlling your woven mana on the size scale of a human hair, is that correct? Maybe a bit smaller--hard to judge the precise size without looking more closely.”

Rilienus watched him, still alight with the flex of power. The bruise of red in his eye reflected the brightening sky around them. “...I can show you. If that helps.”

“Give away your secrets? I wouldn’t ask that.” Dorian chuckled, moving closer. “Unless you’re sure.”

“I’m not sure of anything right now,” he muttered. “But it’s nice to actually… be seen.” He squinted at Dorian. “And you’re pretty when your brain’s at work.”

Dorian flushed slightly, his smile widening as he crossed the rest of the distance between them. “Are you trying to distract me with idle flirtations? Silly, meaningless compliments to put me off of my game?”

“Foolish,” he remained still, watching. “Not silly. Certainly not meaningless.” He smirked, blinking slowly. “Only idle for the moment.”

Dorian laughed, cupping his cheek and taking his hand. His heart was racing, eager; whatever his intentions had been, it was going to be a challenge to focus his attention on Rilienus’ casting. “Show me.”

“It _is_ a secret,” Rilienus murmured, turning his face to kiss Dorian’s palm, then walked backward, drawing him towards the shelter of the nearest merlon. “But as you’ve trusted me with some of yours...” He leaned against the stones and drew back his sleeve, unwinding a thick cloth bracelet from his wrist. What initially looked like silk cords unraveled into a fine thread mesh: constellations and glyphs and runes wrought in embroidery throughout the nearly transparent cloth. “Cheatsheet.”

“Maker’s breath…” Dorian stared at the bracelet. He’d woven his grimoire into _cloth_ , the tiny delicate threads containing pages and pages worth of information. Some of the patterns were so minuscule that Dorian didn’t think they were possible to produce with human hands… “You’re an artist. Can I see it?”

“Artist,” he snorted softly, warmth rising prettily in his cheeks. Rilienus laid the near lacework out across the arm of his robe and held it up. “Here,” he pointed to an upper corner. “Is where I was working on the shield.” 

Dorian looked at him appreciatively, quirking an eyebrow as his fingers touched the exquisite cloth. “Does this mean that if I get you out of your clothes, I’ll have access to all of your secrets?”

“That depends,” those lips quirked, close, warmed by morning light, “on how interesting I can be compared to them, I suppose.”

He chuckled, reviewing the glyphs Rilienus had revealed. “You’re right. I can’t imagine we’d get much studying done. Too many other… distractions.” He pored over the notes, nodding as he began to understand the construction. “Ah! Yes. It’s brilliant, really, but you’ve left me just a bit of room to improve upon it.” Dorian tapped his fingers across the cloth, smiling. “The structure of the final weave is precisely what you want--it’s flawless, Rilienus, beautiful. But, if you alter the matrix ductility just a _touch_ , you should be able to augment your visualization and ability to modify the minimally manipulable elements. The crystallization of the phasic energy needs to be tightly controlled and amorphous structures all aligning; you should be able to tell at a macroscopic level by the birefringence--I mean, the transparency should alter based on optical direction--so that you don’t always need to study the sub-parsing level. Ideally, your construction should be as strong as glass, but as supple as silk…”

He waved a hand in the air, summoning a modified version of Rilienus’ shield. “Ah, I haven’t practiced it--I’m sure yours will be better, but if I’m _correct_ , it’ll stop a crossbow bolt _and_ transmute the kinetic energy directly into your mana field. Not a perfect transference, but… Something’s always going to dissipate from deformation and through the course of the movement. Every action has its cost.”

Rilienus laughed softly, brushing his fingers over the shield Dorian had summoned. It flickered slightly under his touch. “Can you-” He whistled softly, tracing a line across the shield, “-still feel the energy fluctuation?”

“Yes. A tickle on my cheek.” He stepped back, raising his hands. The shield wove itself outward in all directions, creating a barrier that extended from the floor to the upper edge of the merlon. “It should be insensitive to temperature changes, too, if you’ve done your work and aligned the strands properly--and I have, see how it’s only transparent when faced head-on? Birefringence. Try me with a bit of elemental. How hot do your flames burn?”

Rilienus shook his head, “Not like yours, I’m sure.” He rolled the grimoire up and returned it around his wrist, collecting his staff once more. “Elemental casting isn’t my strong suit, I’m sorry to tell you. But for the sake of experimentation...” He hummed under his breath, a low tenor note, and flexed his hand around the center grip of his staff, leveling it at the shield. A burst of heat poured like a spout from the end of his staff, catapulting and spreading out over the shield even as the thread of flame dissipated. 

Dorian thrilled, the warmth of Rilienus’ mana transferred to him, his entire body tingled with the captured energy. “Didn’t even flicker, but the mana transferred beautifully. Lovely, it really is. I’m sure you’ll be able to improve upon it further.” He smiled, dispelling the shield, letting it fall. “Color me impressed.”

“What shade would that be?” he asked, arching a brow and tucking his staff behind his back. “Mauve? Turquoise?”

“Caramel. I’ve a fondness for it as well.”

Whether it was the fresh wave of borrowed power or the insight into his casting, it was as though Dorian could see the words catch against the prefect, severing the threads that held him just that touch aloof. Rilienus caught his hand and drew him in, exhaling an unsteady breath against his cheek. “You’re always colored caramel,” he murmured, rubbing his lips against his cheek.

Dorian moved against him, cupping the back of his head with his hand, pressing him backward until Rilienus was flush against the stone. Their lips met and it was like the heat of the magical flame that had dissipated against the shield was reconjured to consume him. “Kaffas, when did you get so saccharine?”

“It’s early,” Rilienus chuckled against his lips. “Give me an hour. I’ll be hopeless again. I promise.”

“You might actually make me start to like mornings,” Dorian said, running a hand across the tender skin behind Rilienus’ ears. “I’m fond of you too, by the way.”

“Who said I was fond?” His eyes were heavy-lidded, barely open, as he tilted his head into Dorian’s touch. “Perhaps I just want to eat you… off of a stick.” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Void, I’ve gotten lost, I think. You’re tricky. Whiskey and lightning. All these forbidden things.”

“Tell me,” Dorian quirked an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling and smile suggestive. “Are there other forbidden fruits you’ve longed to taste?”

“You’ve been given enough of my secrets for one morning, I think.” He thumbed the corner of Dorian’s lips, fingers brushing the side of his neck as he kissed him. “Any more, you’ll have to find yourself.”

“How often do you have visitors up here?” Dorian asked against his lips, his voice heady and low. “I’d prefer not to be disturbed if I’m to begin my search in earnest.”

“Before morning prayers? Never.” He licked his lips, chuckling, “Well. Once. I scared her off to the western wall.”

Dorian laughed, drawing back to meet his eyes, sparkling and green in the growing light of the early morning. “Am I to receive the same treatment as your last hapless victim?”

Like a shade being drawn, the light faded from his eyes. His thumb traced Dorian’s lip gently, brows furrowing. “I hope not,” he murmured. “I suppose that’s up to you.”

“I’m a bit too old to be frightened by rumors and ghost stories, Rilienus.” His expression was serious, lips drawn in a sharp line as he caressed the line of his jaw. Dorian pressed a kiss to his brow, trying to bring down the wall he’d unintentionally caused Rilienus to raise. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you ask me to. Though…” he chuckled lightly, his features softening. “Even then, I’ll probably protest.”

“Would you?” He frowned, unreadable, “Would you-” He swallowed. “Would you kiss me again, for a little while?”

“I…” Dorian searched his face, looking for a physical sign of the hurt his words and voice had conveyed, but there was nothing. Emotionless, like a statue carved and weathered. “Ril, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honestly, I didn’t know I could.” He wrapped his arms around Rilienus’ shoulders, drawing him back from the slowly warming stone. “I adore you. I don’t want to be parted from you. If I could spend every moment with you, learning everything, Maker knows I would.”

“ _Vishante kaffas._ No. You don’t. You can’t.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is it not enough that you’ve cracked through my armor? Is it not enough that I’ve told you more than- That I’ve shown you-” He caught Dorian’s face between his hands, a gleam of heat in his eyes, tension in his fingers, “I don’t want wishes and promises. I want _you_.”

“How many ways must I tell you that _I’m already yours_?” 

“Old gods and new, no-” Rilienus hissed, leaning his forehead against his. “No. You’re your own. As you must be.”

“I am. I _am_ my own,” Dorian said sighing, tugging him closer, then breathing him in. “I’m my own and who I choose to be with is my decision. Maker, why must you be so difficult?”

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I _like_ you. I don’t want to see you made into another victim. Not by me. Not by anyone. Maker help me.”

“What is this about? I don’t understand anything that’s going on here. _Kaffas_ , who hurt you?” Dorian’s eyes were wide, confused, trying to parse out a nugget of truth from the vague statements he’d made. “Rilienus, please. You don’t have to tell me everything. Just… _Maker_. Why are you so afraid of letting me close to you?”

“Because I know what I’m capable of. And you don’t.” He tightened his jaw, slowly opening his eyes to meet Dorian’s gaze miserably. “I want you close. I do. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want you. I shouldn’t want to trust you. I know better. I know that I don’t deserve your trust. I don’t deserve anyone’s.” He kissed him hard, “Isn’t this enough? Just this? Just now?”

Dorian’s voice was quiet, hard to hear, even though there was hardly a breeze. He drew back, his hands falling to his sides. “I don’t want ‘just now’. I’ve been ‘just now’ so many times before, used for money or power or just the press of my body. It hurts, it bloody hurts _so much_ , feeling as though I’ll never have anything more than that. I thought you might be different. Is there even a _chance_ that one day you’ll allow me to love you? Not now, but… I…” 

“Dorian-” he murmured helplessly. “I _am_ different. I’m _wrong_.” He reached for him, but let his hand fall before it made contact. “I don’t want to use you for-” He looked down, winding his hands together, metal glinting at his fingers. “That’s not true. I do. I feel like I can taste what it is to be free when I’m with you. Perhaps I am using you for that.”

“I want you to taste it again, then,” Dorian said, his eyes nearly closed. He took a step closer, taking Rilienus’ hands and lacing his own through them, pushing him back against the wall. “I want you to taste it again and again and again until you’ve forgotten the weight of your shackles entirely. Let me show you...”

He pressed the length of his body flush against Rilienus’, their hands clasped near his cheeks, and kissed him, fierce and unrelenting. Their lips trembled against each other, clumsy and graceless in their embrace. Dorian’s chest ached, raw from hearing about a pain he didn’t understand, one he couldn’t seem to do anything about. “Just let me…” Dorian kissed him again, more gently - less fire and more sunlight. “I want to…”

Rilienus sighed against him, pliant, a willing tapestry against stones meant for war. “Anything,” he breathed. “Anything.”

“ _Fasta vass_ , just let me love you, you ridiculous man.” Dorian’s heart was beating so loudly he was certain it could be heard in the courtyard below. “I’m not sure I can say that I really know how. I’m sure I want to try.”

“If you insist,” he sighed low, flexing his fingers in Dorian’s grip. He sounded tired. Looked it- lines of concern etched across his smooth brow, an unfathomable sadness in his eyes. But he was there again. Present and revealed - afraid and sad and full of yearning. “I seem incapable of denying you.”

Dorian leaned against him, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding against Rilienus’ lips. He followed it with a kiss, gentle and tenuous, trying to reassure him with his body since his words seemed to keep failing. His tongue teased Rilienus’ lips open tenderly, terrified a single wrong move could blow his lover away from him forever. 

The stone was rough against the back of his fingers and he dropped them, clutching the soft fabric of Rilienus’ robe instead, his hands and lips exploring him with his eyes tightly shut. Ink and parchment, old books, and sunshine. He smelled like rainy days, trapped in a library--Dorian’s favorite sort of day--where time seemed irrelevant and even the walls and ceilings surrounding him didn’t feel so oppressive. 

He kissed him, once, twice, a thousand times. He couldn’t say, stopped counting, as the warm press of his body made Dorian stop caring about how long they might’ve been or whether anyone was watching. ‘If you insist’ was better than ‘never’. ‘Just now’ had to be better than nothing at all.

Rilienus’ hands were a flurry of weight and warm, stroking his back and shoulders, sinking into his hair to pull him closer, tighter- That had to mean something, didn’t it? That drag of fingers against his robes. The sighs that caught and escaped him as he returned every kiss. 

“Ril?”

“No one calls me Ril,” he mumbled against his lips. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Never.”

Dorian sighed against him, kissing him again, supple, smooth lips, that matched his every move with a simmering intensity. “The sun’s rising. Do you think the Maker would mind a little debauchery before morning prayers?”

“He made us. If He doesn’t like it, He should have sculpted different designs.” His voice was tumbled gemstones and shards of broken marble. “I’m glad He didn’t. Very glad.” He dabbed his tongue to his lip. “We have until the bells in the Black Tower. Can- Would you let me- What sort of debauchery did you have in mind?”

Dorian chuckled, smiling against his lips. “I want to pleasure you with my mouth. Hear the sound of my name on your lips as I unravel you like a tapestry.”

Rilienus blinked. “You- Oh.” His hands at Dorian’s back twitched, tightening. “I’d like that if that’s what you want.”

He kissed Rilienus once more on the forehead and once more on the lips, his hands on either side of his cheeks. “Maker, what do you think I’ve been thinking about the past three days?” 

Slender fingers undid the silver hooks on the inside of Rilienus’ robes, just enough for him to pull the fabric aside, revealing tented silk underneath. Dorian dropped to his knees and ran his cheek against the fabric, nuzzling the inside of his legs, feeling the lean muscle that the thin breeches tried to hide. He replaced his cheek with his lips, teasing him through the cloth, his mouth putting pressure everywhere but where he was desperately wanted. “Ril, are you certain you want this? I’d love to give it to you, but only if it’s what you want.”

“Yes!” Rilienus brushed his fingers down the back of Dorian’s neck, watching him intently. “Sorry: yes.” He tucked a lock of hair behind Dorian’s ear. “On the condition that I’m allowed to return the favor.”

Dorian’s smile was wicked, but his eyes were wide with surprise. He nodded. “ _Vishante kaffas_ , where have you been my entire life?”

“Here. For most of it, anyway.”

He sighed, tugging on the drawstring to his breeches, sliding them down, kissing along his thighs as they fell to his knees, leaving wet marks wherever lips met skin. The coarse, dark hairs on Rilienus’ legs perked, gooseflesh covering him. “If you don’t like something, tell me, alright? Don’t keep it in to spare my feelings. This is about you.”

Rilienus nodded, brows drawn, lips pressed together. 

Dorian looked up, his eyes glimmering. “And if you like something…”

“I’ll do my best not to let everyone know.” Rilienus searched his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Thank me…?” Dorian cocked his head, surprised and confused _again_. “Oh… nevermind. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Are you- alright? Down there? Comfortable?”

“You’re unreal.” It was the only response he could think of. The ground was uneven and stone and his knees were going to be horribly chafed and his breeches probably torn, but quite frankly, it was the furthest thing from his mind. He ran his fingers across slender legs, the tips catching ever so slighting against the hairs. Rilienus’ breaths were uneven, almost ragged. Dorian placed one palm on his stomach and one on his lower back, kissing down his warm belly until he reached the border of his smallclothes. 

One final look, brows raised, a devilish grin on his lips, just to be sure. 

Rilienus met his gaze and whistled quietly under his breath, stroking his thumbs beneath Dorian’s ears and lifting him, like so much cloth, from the stones. “Thank you,” he said again, flushed. 

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian breathed, moving his hands to grip his hips tightly. There was no hard ground beneath his knees anymore, just _air_. “Rilienus…” He shook his head, as he took his lover’s smalls between his teeth and yanked them down, baring him. Tender kisses buried in thick, dark hair. The smell of sweat, salt on his tongue. Teasing and tantalizing, moving his lips ever so slightly closer to his cock. 

Dorian’s body was warm, aflame from want, but he could whip fire around a room with little more than a thought. He could control himself here too, tamp down the fury until his partner was wriggling with need. 

Thumbs stroking his belly, Dorian’s mouth flitted like a butterfly, constantly moving, never lingering in one location for more than a heartbeat. He knew the bell would ring soon enough, but he didn’t care; he would take his time, and the Maker and his silly Chant be damned.

He could feel Rilienus’ breath rising and falling against his palm, anticipating; the lean muscles of his belly tight. His magic flowed around them, beneath Dorian, shifting like his breaths, alive and soft and buoying. 

Dorian’s right hand slipped lower and he ran a finger along the shaft of his cock, thumb smoothing over the head as he stared into Rilienus’ eyes. A smile, wide and a lift of his brows, and Dorian gripped him, taking the head of his cock between his lips. 

Familiar tastes--drops of sweat and precome, salty and bitter and coating the tip of his tongue as he licked the velvet flesh--stoked Dorian’s desire; his heart raced as he teased him, lips tightly wreathed around the tip of his cock. He allowed his hands to slide across the inside of Rilienus’ thighs, confident now that the man wouldn’t allow him to drop back to the hard, unforgiving stone. 

Dorian breathed deeply then swallowed him whole, the soft skin of his lips meeting coarse hair. He gripped Rilienus’ ass, driving him in deeper, and a quiet, muffled moan escaped his lips. A breath, then two, before he drew back slowly, encircling Rilienus’ length with the deft movements of his tongue. He took Rilienus in his hand and pulled back completely, the sound of a wet, dull pop filled the air that seemed to have become far too warm. “Talk to me, Rilienus; your voice is a divine chorus, performing only for me. I want to hear from you, darling, anything. The weather. Your studies. The way you feel when you look at me. How much you want me to press you against the wall and…” Dorian smiled, looking up, meeting his eyes. “Touch me through my robes. Just once. That might help with the last one.”

He was so still, warm and hewn of honed mahogany, a statue of silent focus, but Dorian’s words seemed to rouse Rilienus from whatever trance his lips had bespelled him with. A quick intake of breath as though he’d only just realized that he’d forgotten to breathe. “You-“ He ran his fingers down the back of Dorian’s neck. “You are-“ He ran his tongue across his lower lip, his voice the barest of whispers. “Mana, I think. I think-“ he exhaled slowly. “Dorian...” he combed his fingers through his hair. Gentle strokes that traced the back of his head and the curve of his ear and the divers of his temples-

“Ah, at last, the realization dawns,” Dorian said, finally, after several moments of silence. “I was wondering when it would finally begin to sink in.”

Rilienus traced the curve of his jaw, sinking to his knees to kiss him. He moaned against Dorian’s lips, tasting himself there, as he pulled him close. “Dorian,” he whispered again and again, against his lips, his cheek, his ear. He met his gaze, a picture of bewilderment, and his lips curved in a sweet, self-deprecating smile. “I would very much like you to press me into a wall. And.” He kissed him again. “And, and, and.” He nudged him back, “Let me- Let me show you what it feels like. Words are meaningless.”

A sharp intake of breath, his heart racing like a stallion. “Show me.” Dorian barely recognized his voice, deep and low and ragged, dripping with… Desire? Curiosity? Something more? 

Fingers stroked down his robes, deftly spreading them, and Rilienus groaned softly, kissing every fresh inch of revealed flesh. Dorian was caught in his spell, lifted, hovering, and helpless. “I want you,” he whispered against his skin, dragging his palm over him through his robes. “I want to taste you. Pure mana and electric storms,” he sighed, kissing his stomach as he nudged the silk slacks down. Calluses on his fingertips. The sky was a blaze of dark orange above them. Rilienus licked his lips, stroking his hands down Dorian’s thighs, up to his sides, over his chest- as though he were trying to map him with his palms or memorize his shape for summoning. “Let me,” he whispered, gazing up the line of his body.

He could hardly breathe; the air seemed to thicken around them, his heart thrumming in his ears. “Yes. _Yes_. Maker, yes.”

A sharp, unexpected grin. Rilienus slid his smalls down, lids falling heavy over muddled green eyes. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and stroked his thumb up Dorian’s length. “You’re _beautiful_ . How are you _more_ beautiful the more I see?” He kissed the slight hollow of Dorian’s hip, then uttered a low sigh and bent to lick his length, wrapping his fingers around the base of his shaft. “You want me,” he mumbled, kissing up the curve of him and flicking his tongue out over the head of his cock, lapping at the morning dew he found. “You want me,” he repeated, breathless. “Have me.” He sank over him, hot, wet, his eyes rolling back with reverence.

 _“Vishante kaffas_ \--Ah!” Dorian gasped, his fingers tangling in Rilienus’ silky curls, applying gentle pressure to the back of his head: suggestion, not compulsion. He wanted to watch him, wanted to capture every motion within his memory, to replay it again and again when he was alone and wanting, but he couldn’t--his eyes shut almost against his own will. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Shh-“ It was almost a laugh more than an admonishment. He caught Dorian’s fingers at the back of his head and held him as he kissed and licked and hummed along his flesh. “Feel. Feel what you do to me.” He squeezed the base of his shaft and engulfed him again. Quick panting breaths against his skin. His tongue twisting and laving him as his lips tightened around him. He released him with a soft pop, stroking his fingers along his length, cupping his sack gently. “I want you. I want you inside of me. I want your storm. Dorian.” He kissed his thigh, his hip, the base of his shaft. “Dorian.”

The sun was bright, burning--when had it gotten so warm? How did they miss the sunrise? The colors filling the sky with reds and oranges and yellows and pinks, beautiful and hot and immaculate, divinity and devastation, the night burned away in its fury. 

Bells began to ring, sharp, cutting like shards of glass. “ _Blighted, nug-faced, Void damned, fucking shit.”_ Dorian wanted to scream, to shout over the walls, to bathe them in flames and lightning, to tear down the world that was going to force them apart. “Later. _Later_. Void take it all.”

“Yes,” he panted against his skin. “Later.” Rilienus shut his eyes and eased Dorian back to the rough, sun-warmed stone. “Soon.”

He kissed Rilienus again, angry and frustrated, furious, and desperately disappointed. “Maker, please don’t make me wait long. I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Have I kept you waiting?” That damned smirk. His lips flushed and full from effort. “Forgive me, Dominus.”

Dorian shoved him lightly, against his shoulder. “Stop it, Ril, I don’t own you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Rilienus caught his hand at his shoulder, guiding it to the back of his neck and leaning in to kiss him. Light. Breathless. “You might,” he murmured. “You could. You can try.” He flicked his gaze to meet his, setting Dorian’s robes to rights as the second of the four bells rang out across the city. “I’ll find you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Dorian stood, taking his hand and tugging him up, a smile pulling the corner of his lips. He fixed the tiny, silver clasps and ran his fingers across the medals on his chest. “Run along, darling. I can filter into the back of the Chantry with the rest of the delinquents. They’ll miss you if you aren’t with the other prefects.”

“I know,” he huffed, scraping his hands through his hair. “Don't be late,” he tossed Dorian his staff, collecting his own. “I can’t kiss you if you’re in detention.” He smiled, quick and small.

“One last thing… How does my hair look?” Dorian chuckled lightly, “Can you tell I’ve been sinning under the Maker’s sun?”

Rilienus tucked a curl behind his ear and stroked the curl of his mustache. “Who’s been sinning? I thought we were taking communion.”

“Maker, go, or I really _am_ going to strip you and take you against the wall. And then we’ll both get detention because once I begin, I’m not letting you go until they can hear your cries echoing through the halls of our gilded prison.”

“Wards of silencing, check,” Rilienus kissed his nose, chuckling. “I’m going. I’m gone.” He ducked through the door and fled down the stairs. 

Dorian sighed, looking over the city of Minrathous, the sunrise twinkling, reflected in the distant ocean waves, running a hand through his hair. He knelt to pick up his satchel and swung it over his shoulder, breathing in the morning air. 

When Rilienus’ footsteps faded, he inhaled, smiling, and followed his lover down the stairs, back into the depths of their perilous, invigorating lie.


	6. hemlock, I had drunk

## Rilienus

“Reports, _omnis_.”

There were twelve prefects in all, lined up in order of seniority before the Praeceptor’s desk; eight men, four women. Rilienus listened with half an ear as a few of the other prefects spoke up about events around the Circle. A fight that had broken out in the mess hall over lunch the previous day and those involved. A young woman who’d requested assistance with a particularly aggressive suitor. The class rankings. 

In his mind’s eye, he saw Dorian against the warm predawn gray sky, leaning on his practice staff and smiling. The clever spark of him as he rebuilt the shield he’d worked weeks on in mere minutes. The look in his eyes, frustration and demand and something tender. ‘Let me love you,’ he’d said. As though Rilienus had any choice in the matter. Any means by which to refuse him, when he’d torn through his walls within moments of meeting him. The feel of his hands clasping his own, pressing him against the wall, kissing him breathless- The way he’d tasted him, wanted him, luxuriated over him like- he wanted him. _Him_. Not to use him as a stepping stone to some other goal. Not to pretend he was someone else, release some banked shuddering need. 

And the way he’d _tasted-_ The feel of Dorian’s bare, warm skin under his hands in the light of the rising sun. The feel of his cock pressing against his tongue, dripping- His hands at the back of Rilienus’ head, insistent and gentle and- He’d lost himself in the taste of him, the scent of spice and wine and sweat and want- Soon. Soon, he’d have him. Somewhere. He had to find somewhere safe- somewhere he could set some wards, and then drag Dorian’s robes off and feel him against him, inside of him, filling him, surrounding him-

“You were in that class, weren’t you, Maecilia?”

He re-emerged into the discussion just in time to hear the entirety of the question. He didn’t have context, but it didn’t matter. The answer was an obvious one. “Yes, Dominus.”

“And you didn’t think it appropriate to report that?”

He flexed his hands at his spine. What were they talking about? “No, Dominus.” What? Report what? “My apologies, Dominus.”

The Praeceptor narrowed his eyes slightly. “We can't have bullies running rampant on the populace. If we need to put Pavus to the Chain, that is relevant information.”

His heart chilled, sinking like a boulder to the pit of his stomach. The Chain? Even hearing it mentioned sent a shiver down his spine. The memory of that void. Being inside his own body as a prison, screaming, isolated, unable to touch the Fade, to enact his will, to speak in his voice. An image of Dorian under its influence flashed through his mind’s eye- all that bright fire snuffed out, steel made vacant, that cheerful lilt replaced with the hollow that came with having one’s connection to the Fade barred. Which one of them had done it? Which one of his fellow bootlickers had reported on the events of the dueling hall? “It was a miscommunication, Dominus. Professor Kailish never lost control of the class. I heard him suggesting he was going to advance the student in question, not punish him.”

“The victim in the matter is suggesting that he is afraid to return to class-“

Heritia. A quick flame of fury lashed through Rilienus, but he kept his expression neutral. “The student in question will no longer be _in_ the class, if Kailish's resolution is accepted by the Praetor, Dominus. The matter should be closed.”

“Nevertheless, the boy has a violent reputation. And he’s attacked Cornicen Heritia twice in as many days. An example needs to be made.”

Rilienus gritted his teeth. Heritia was scared, was he? He was a victim, was he? The pissant. He would show him what fear was. He would- He summoned a bored expression. “If an example is required, the Chain is not a broad enough message. Let him wear the Eye.”

He heard a shift from his left, where a couple of the newer prefects stood in formation. The Praeceptor smiled slowly. “The _Eye_. _There_ is a clever idea. Are you volunteering?”

Rilienus frowned, dropping his gaze, “No, Dominus.”

“You don’t wish to be of service to the Order?” 

And there it was. The Praeceptor never lost an opportunity to make something more of a challenge. Rilienus had thrown up seven years before after seeing a girl's back shredded and charred from the fire lash and he’d been on office duty ever since. He’d seen worse since then, and less, but he’d never let his reaction show again. Those cold brown eyes were always on him, looking for another tinge of nausea, another sign of weakness. If he was too strong, he was a challenge. Too weak, and he was meat for the hounds. He let his shoulders sink slightly, tightening his expression. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to serve, Dominus.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Thank you for your suggestion and for volunteering.” Thin lips curved in a sour smile. “I’ll look forward to your detailed reports. In the meantime, let us all keep our eyes open and our hearts full of Andraste’s fire.”

“By Her Light,” they intoned as a group. A line of marionettes, guided by a will that was neither Andraste’s nor the Maker’s. 

As the others turned to go, Rilienus remained where he was, wrists crossed at his spine. 

“Ah, yes, the Eye,” the Praeceptor waved him forward as the door closed. 

Rilienus had always hated this office. The fact that he found himself in it now every other day was a product of need rather than preference. He doubted very much that Praeceptor Horos trusted him as far as he could throw him. He’d been the one, after all, who had given him his lashes when he’d been a boy, full of fury and indignance and a belief in justice. Lashes that burned. A box that made him sweat and struggle to breathe. Worse- so much worse- “Mercy or suspicion, I wonder.”

“Neither, Dominus.”

“What then.”

He kept his gaze on the floor at the Praeceptor’s feet. “Failure and correction, Dominus. You tell us they need to be in balance.”

“And you think the Chain is out of balance.” 

It was torture. It was life in the Void. Barbaric. _Southern_. Anathema. Rilienus held his tongue and his breath. “No, Dominus.” He could feel the Praeceptor’s eyes on him, sharp and hard as glass. “I think that you know what is best.” A patent lie. A risk. An obsequious gamble. A gamble with Dorian’s mind. His soul. His fire. “I really would prefer not to administrate the Eye, Dominus; I have my work and-“

“You will do as I’ve instructed.” 

And there it was, that peevishness that was the man’s undoing, the instinct towards control that controlled him. Rilienus let a glimmer of disappointment flex his brow and saw the sneer of victory cross his elder’s lips. “Yes, Dominus.”

Praeceptor Horos unlocked the cabinet and collected the embroidered capelet, holding it out along with the crop that accompanied it. “Be strict, Maecilia. Let us hope this is the last interaction our office needs to have with young Pavus.”

For the first time in a long time, Rilienus found himself in whole agreement. “By Her Light,” he answered quietly, belting the crop to his waist as was expected, and steered himself out into the day’s unrelenting heat. 

He could smell the peach in his pocket, ripe and soft. He’d wanted to peel it with his teeth and feed it to Dorian bite by bite, juice dripping down their chins and necks and- 

Of course, he should have known nothing could be so simple. So pure. So-

He found Dorian under an archway, at ease and smiling charmingly as he spoke with his peers before his morning class began. He was leaning, half in shade, half in sun. Living mana. Melting caramel, beads of sweat on his brow. No. Nothing was ever simple. 

“Pavus,” he murmured. Why did he have to be with people, for the Maker’s sake? Every face might as well have been a stranger’s. He’d taken care to keep them at bay for the most part. Friends were weaknesses. Trust was a flaw. He was being reminded of that now, reminded that the oath he’d taken to secure himself was a betrayal to every other mage in the Tower. He saw them flinch in his presence; he could practically feel the girl tense as her eyes darted to the bright crop at his waist. 

“Good morning… Maecilia, was it?” Dorian’s smile didn’t waver as the others’ did. He greeted Rilienus like a casual acquaintance, not a threat, but also without the heat from a few hours ago, when they were alone and panting with mutual need. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

Unafraid, unflinching, unfettered. Did anything frighten him? Was he blind or brave? 

Rilienus tightened his jaw. “I bear word from the Praeceptor. Your actions require an accounting.” 

Dorian stepped away from his companions, crossing the distance between him, tilting his head, brows furrowed. “My what? I apologize, but I haven’t the slightest idea to what you’re referring to.”

“For your aggression towards another son of the Maker, May He Return, you have been found in violation of the Order’s code.” He couldn’t look at him. He had to. He gritted his teeth. “You will don the Eye so that all who look upon you will know that the eye of the Maker rests on your deeds.” He held out the garish red capelet with its bright yellow eye. “Until the Praeceptor sees fit to remove it.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. There was no trace of the gentleness he’d felt before, the soft-spoken tenderness with which he confessed his feelings. The smile had vanished, replaced with a thin, tight line and an expression that could’ve sliced through glass like it was old parchment.

“Heritia. This is about Heritia. Did you tell him about the living hell that undignified worm was creating for the younger students? Hmm?” 

“Cornicen Heritia,” Rilienus forced the words like bile from his tongue, “is a valued presence within the Order. It is not for you to mete out justice as you see fit.” He held Dorian’s gaze. How? How was he supposed to explain with all these bloody eyes on them? “I have been instructed to see that you learn.” He risked a glance to his belt and tried to keep his voice hard and cold as obsidian. “Don’t force me to teach you.”

He could smell the lightning before he saw it, the palms of Dorian’s hands beginning to glow with that unfathomable energy, that wellspring of raw power. Dorian’s eyes began to glow too, wet and glistening, rage and betrayal, and Maker knew what else.

“Get away from me, you lying _serpent_ !” His voice was sharp, high and tremulous. “You _wanted_ this, didn’t you? You knew this would happen! Piss on your ‘justice’. It’s as big of a lie as you are.” He spat, letting the magic dissipate, its sudden absence sending a sharp crack through the air. “Do what you will then. See if I fucking care.”

Deserved. He deserved this. And Dorian was right. He was a serpent and a liar. He blinked once, slowly, and risked the power in those palms to press the capelet into his hand. “Take it.” He wanted to melt into the earth and dissolve among the roots. “Take it and know this is the best thing for you.”

“No,” Dorian said, his voice a low snarl. “If I’m to be shackled, then you can be the one to have it on your conscience, _Dominus_. Go ahead, tighten the cloth around me like a noose.”

He heard the quiet gasp of a nearby student and the low murmur of others. They expected a show. They expected a fight. Rilienus lifted his chin and snarled, “Go to your classes.” He grabbed Dorian’s collar and shoved him out of the small courtyard and towards the nearest empty classroom. “Don’t fight me,” he hissed against his ear, thrusting him through the door. “Please don’t.”

Dorian slumped, falling hard on the ground to his knees. He was shaking, his hands, his back, his lips quivering. “Not even an hour after I told you… How could you betray me like this?”

“Dorian,” he sank to his knees beside him, hesitating to touch him. “I swear to you, this is better than it could be. Do you think I want to do this? You think I like it?”

“How am I to know what you think? One minute you’ve got your lips around me, honeyed words and sweet caresses, and the next I’m a problem to be dealt with, a blemish on Andraste’s skirt. Was this… Was this your task all along? Is this a scheme of my _Father’s_ ?!” He adopted an unfamiliar, lilting tone, a slight accent, heavier than his own. “‘You’re a fool, Dorian, and you will continue to be so long as you have this _weakness_?’”

“What?” Rilienus shook his head roughly. “No. Maker’s tears. No. Dorian, I don’t know your father. Horos wanted to put you to the Chain. I couldn’t-”

“What? What do you mean, the Chain?”

“It’s- They bind you in black pearls, cut you from the Fade.” He flexed his hand towards Dorian and drew it back. “I couldn’t- You’ve really pissed him off.”

“For _what_?! I defended myself and those skinny kids against that arrogant prick. I didn’t even hurt him, and Maker knows, had I wanted to, I would’ve.” Dorian’s body was loosening; his control returning. “You saw his hailstorm; he didn’t _care_ about the bystanders in the room, so long as he hurt me. He would’ve brought it down on all of our heads because someone finally confronted him!”

“I saw. Of course, I saw.” Rilienus frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t know why the Praeceptor won’t punish Heritia. We’ve told him before- I don’t know why he leaped to the Chain. That’s not- I _earned_ the Chain over time. To- He wants to hurt you. Do you understand? He wants to break you.” He glanced back towards the door. “This is better. At least you won’t be hurt. I won’t hurt you. I won’t if I can help it. I don’t- I didn’t know what else to do.”

Dorian laughed a low, pained, strangled sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “Ril… I… I believe I know exactly why he wants to hurt me.”

“Why? He doesn’t even know you.”

“He doesn’t. It wasn’t his idea. It was my Father’s.” Dorian’s eyes were fixed on the floor, his hands limp against the stone. “One last chance to turn me into a pliant puppet he can plunk on his seat in the Magisterium. Continue the family line. I’m the last of my house and he’s grown tired of my antics. One last chance before he finds a replacement.”

Tentatively, Rilienus rested his hand over Dorian’s. “Family,” he said softly, “is terror.”

Dorian collapsed against him, his body heaving. Tears came shortly after, trailing down his cheeks in slender rivulets. “I thought… For a moment I was happy. An hour. I should’ve known better. Tie the cape, will you? My hands are shaking.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against Dorian’s hair, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think Horos would hear about it, after Kailish- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t intervene on my behalf again, Ril. If I’m to suffer, then I’ll suffer. I’m not willing to let you throw yourself away for nothing.”

“You aren’t nothing,” Rilienus bent to meet his eyes. “Dorian, you aren’t nothing. You brought me back to life. I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want to stand by and watch it. And if he has an excuse to use the Chain- I can’t. I won’t.”

“Andraste preserve me for making you care.” Dorian sighed, turning away again. “I should’ve known it would only end in misery. I’ve brought you down with me then. Maker help us both.”

“You have to be smart. We have to be smarter than them.” He brushed his thumb under Dorian’s chin, guiding him back. “How difficult is that? Andraste outsmarted the wicked. It’s almost holy when you think about it.”

“I’m going to get out of here. I _am_. I… But kaffas, for a while, you almost made me forget that I wanted to.”

Rilienus shut his eyes, his pulse rioting in his ears. “I’ll make you forget again, Dorian. I’ll make you forget and then I’ll remind you. If you’ll let me.”

Dorian hesitated, and the silence stretched into eternity. 

Finally, his voice rasped, a whisper in the darkness. “Just hold me, until I have the strength to stand on my own again.”

He swallowed, gathering Dorian against him to sit with him on the floor in the dim mage light. At least he was learning, he thought even as his breath turned to glass in his lungs. Better. Better to keep him safe. To keep his shields strong. “As you will.” He rested his chin on Dorian’s shoulder and held on. 

## Dorian 

Wherever he went, Rilienus was a quiet shadow, out of reach, but never far. They only took a few of their classes together, but it seemed it didn’t matter - his duties as a prefect apparently superseded his duties as a student. 

They’d missed his first class of the morning. Rilienus had held him until his tears stopped flowing and he could regain an ounce of composure. He held up a hand and cast, a slim, perfect circle of water appeared, unmoving. He stared at his reflection, kohl running down his cheeks, eyes red and stinging. Hand running through his hair. Sighing, he cast, and his appearance changed; all physical evidence of his outburst gone, save that horrible red cape.

Dorian squeezed Rilienus’ hand once, pressing a kiss to his temple, and walked out into the morning sun, his jaw tightly set. 

Artificing. Dorian loved the meditative work of making devices with his hands. He hunched over his workbench, his entire body draped in byxian silk to protect him from the dangers of enchanting. He’d heard rumors that the southern mages relied on dwarven craft for their runes and devices, but Tevinter mages had been doing it for themselves since the time of Archon Hadarian.

The thick goggles he wore made it necessary to squint as he carved intricate designs into opals and dawnstone, melting precious metals with a flash of elemental and cooling them at a controlled rate using a gentle application of frost. He lost himself to the craft, one focus after another, a mounting pile for the Imperial healers to affix to their staves. Reduction in mana usage and an increase in potency. Simple, mindless, calming. He could almost carve the stones in his sleep. 

Anything, anything to take his focus from the cape draped over his shoulders and the head of curls haunting the back of the classroom. Silence, peace, distraction.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, Pavus. At this rate, you’ll outfit the entire Medicus by the end of Umbralis.” 

Dorian looked up, the faint ghost of a smile curling his lips. He nodded at the slender woman, her eyes as large as saucers from her goggles. Professor Aelin, who had burnt away her fingertips from so many years at the forge. Silver hair tied back in a careful, slender braid. “Thank you for your kind words, Domina.”

He looked around, realizing the rest of the class had already filtered out, all except his stone-faced minder. The bell must have sounded, but he hadn’t heard it, his mind entirely consumed with the task of grinding, etching, pouring. 

“You have a talent. A gift from the Maker,” she said, her eyes darting to the hideous capelet now covering his back. “Such blessings should not be squandered, but nurtured.”

He quirked an eyebrow, unsure what to say. For a moment, it appeared she was going to continue, but instead she sighed, turning her back on him and busying herself with tidying the classroom again. 

He put away his tools and materials and then left, footfalls echoing behind him.

Lethina saw him enter the mess hall first, leaping up from her table and practically skipping towards him as the rest of the students shuffled to their seats, her blonde curls bouncing against her back.

“Sit with us?” She cast an accusatory glance towards Rilienus. He didn’t bother following them but instead took a seat alone at a nearby empty table. Dorian nodded, allowing himself to be led, too drained to protest. 

Erend looked up when they joined, as did two auburn-haired youths, clearly related. The woman was around Dorian’s age, while the man seemed to be closer to fifteen or sixteen. 

“We saw what happened,” the girl said. “In the courtyard. Sevine. This is Jekeb, my younger brother.” 

As though she needed to specify to what she referred. Dorian assumed it was rare to see a student shout down a prefect. 

“That was…” the young boy’s voice was still changing, the high lilt of youth cracking and deepening. 

“Absolutely _incredible,_ ” Lethina whispered. “Did you use the same spell on him?”

“Doesn’t look like Maecilia pissed himself.” Erend laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Too bad. Would serve him right.”

Dorian didn’t say anything. He turned to look over his shoulder. Rilienus sat quietly, his face impassive. 

The Praetor raised his hands and the room fell into a hasty silence. Father Vitus rose and led them in prayer, thanking the Maker for their food and drink, vitality, and ability to learn His teachings.

Hypocrites and pretenders. The entire lot of them. Even him. Lies after lies. Competitions to see who was the holiest. Gilded piles of manure, rotting corpses picked away by carrion crows. He was seething, roiling, wanting to hide, and to burn it all to the ground. 

Rilienus wrapping a shield around him, his magic delicate but durable. The look in his eyes when he finally understood what Dorian wanted. The way even the _possibility_ of love was enough to untangle the web Rilienus had woven to protect himself. The way it had returned, his eyes cold and emotionless, as soon as they were apart.

“Well?” Lethina asked, as soon as the chatter began in the hall again.

“Yeah, what happened?”

Dorian looked up, meeting Lethina’s eyes. “I made him tie it around my neck, just as I said.”

“ _What?_ ” The group stared at him, eyes wide. “Did he use the lash?”

“He had me on the ground for an hour before he realized I wasn’t going to cooperate,” Dorian said, trying to keep the wavering out of his voice. “It’s why I wasn’t in class. Told him I’d get up when he tied it around me. He decided it would be less of a hassle than getting the Praeceptor involved. Besides, the skin on my back was so raw… He had to heal it or the blood would’ve ruined this ugly thing.”

“That bastard,” Erend breathed.

“I _told_ you,” Lethina sighed, patting his shoulder. “I’m sorry. They’re all awful. Every single one of the prefects is mental. Sadistic.”

“Still not as bad as Heritia,” Erend added. “This is all his fault, anyway. All you _did_ was stand up to him! Do you think it was Maecilia who ratted? It’s creepy the way he’s watching us.”

Dorian shook his head. “Not Maecilia. No. I don’t think he likes having to follow me about any more than I do. I’m an annoyance.”

“If you say so…” Sevine noted, picking at her rice. “I heard you were teaching these two something about shields? Could we join?”

“Sevine!” Lethina exclaimed, nearly knocking over her glass of ice water. “I told you not to…”

Erend looked at him, warm brown eyes and a gentle smile. “No lessons today. Give the man a break.”

“Thank you,” Dorian sighed. “I believe I’ve had enough excitement for some time.”

“But…” Lethina looked crestfallen.

“Shut it, Leth,” Erend said, his voice not unkind. “Don’t push it.”

Dorian spent the rest of the meal - a bland vegetable curry - in relative silence. Nodding when appropriate, laughing when appropriate, smiling when he could find the energy. They mostly left him alone after a few monosyllabic responses, Lethina occasionally reaching over to touch him conciliatorily. 

The rest of the day passed, blessedly without incident. Class after class, Rilienus trailing him. No words exchanged. No more empty classrooms. No touches, nor kisses, nor anything else.

“Pavus,” he said, at the door to Dorian’s room. “You are not to be out of the dormitories again until I come to escort you for morning prayer. By Her light.”

Dorian nodded, his throat raw, heart as heavy as iron. “Goodnight, Rilienus.” His voice was harsher than he wanted, but it was the only way to keep his voice from trembling.

He hesitated at the door. “You don’t have to wear it until tomorrow,” he murmured low. “...Do-“ He looked away, taking a peach out of his pocket and holding it out. “Here. If you want.”

Something snapped inside of him, like lashes on his skin. He crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Rilienus. Shaking. He was shaking again. Embarrassing and unseemly. Weakness; all he’d done was show his weakness. 

Soft hearts get stamped out like cockroaches under Magister’s boots. Father had said as much, time and time again. Rilienus had said more of the same. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He wondered, far from the first time, why Magister Pavus even let him live. An embarrassment. One after the other, endless disappointment. He wasn’t sure why he kept fighting. Wasn’t sure what the point was anymore. 

‘I’ll make you forget and then I’ll remind you.’ Whispers in the dark. Not quite promises. Not quite kept. 

He tilted Rilienus’ chin up and kissed him if only to try to remember again. He felt the peach drop into the pocket of his robe. The scent of it, warm and bruised and bright, touched his senses. As did the sigh that escaped the man in his arms. 

Rilienus’ fingers brushed his side gently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“I know.”

His hands flexed at Dorian’s hips. “Do you need anything else?” he asked quietly.

Dorian sighed, breathing him in. Ink and parchment and sweet, ripe fruit. “Time, Ril. I just need some time.”

“I know.” He bowed his head. “I’ll see you in the morning. Just… pretend I’m not here, all right?”

Dorian’s eyes lowered and he swallowed. “I’m sorry about earlier. For what it’s worth… Now that I’ve had a moment to think, I’m glad it was you. Don’t make a habit of trying to rescue me, though, okay? I can take it, whatever ‘it’ ends up being. I don’t want to watch them hurt you.”

“You probably can. You’re stronger than me.” His lips curled in a self-deprecating smirk. “And yet. I so rarely have the opportunity to do good.” He stepped back, crossing his wrists at his back and inclined his head. “Dominus.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes, a faint smile appearing on his lips. “Yes, yes, patronize me then. Don’t tell me you‘re going to be insufferable about this.”

“By no means.” Rilienus looked down. “It’s not patronizing. Just true.” He rolled his eyes, “For once. Don’t get used to it.” 

“Get used to you lavishing me with anything resembling respect?” Dorian’s smile widened, almost real again. “Perish the thought.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, and cleared his throat. “You have my respect,” he murmured. “If nothing else. Try to get some rest.”

Dorian bowed low, the picture of courtly obsequiousness. “As you will, my lord Maecilia.”

“Not ‘my lord’. Lost that title a long time ago. Now it’s just ‘that crazy one’.” He touched his brow. “See you, then, Altus.” He turned deftly and padded away down the hall, his robes fluttering around his heels. 

For the first time since daybreak, Dorian was alone again.


	7. sunburnt mirth

##  Rilienus 

He’d spent years watching the sunrise on his own. He liked the quiet hours before the Tower filled with bells and chants and chatter. He liked to watch the lights of the city wink out along with the stars. To see the sea warm with morning and fill slowly with fishing boats, then merchant vessels by the time the bells called him to prayer. He liked solitude. 

But sitting on his perch with the memory of the morning before made the lights seem dim, the colors of the sky look pale, the shifting wind on his skin feel mediocre. To share his world. To be seen, to be wanted, to want in return- 

Well, he’d done what he’d had to. He couldn’t alter the past, no matter how skilled he was becoming at peering into it. 

He worked on his shield for a little while, stitching and pulling the threads, but he kept thinking of the way Dorian’s eyes had lit up upon seeing his grimoire, the way he’d touched it as though it were special. As though Rilienus were someone to be admired. An artist, he’d said, warming him to his toes. 

Let it go. It had been a pleasant morning. A rarity. Unique in its entirety. He would cherish the memory. That was that. 

He gathered himself before the first bells sounded from the city, padding down the steps to the dormitory and perching on the bench outside Dorian’s room to wait, mentally reviewing the subtle shifts required for the summoning spell he was attempting to alter. When Dorian emerged alongside his roommate, Rilienus barely met his eyes. To look at him was to see him, search him, wonder if he was well, if he’d slept and how, if he was still aching, if he wanted him still, if he would ever want him again- So he kept himself to himself. 

Time. 

Yes. 

He knew what he’d done was a betrayal. He could have been kinder. Found a way to warn him before he made the proclamation, but that wasn’t how it was done. Witnesses. He couldn’t have risked it, could he? 

Dorian would have.

Almost undoubtedly. He’d known him for moments, but Rilienus was nearly sure that he would have flaunted the risks. Void, he probably would have simply set the Praeceptor on fire. The thought made him laugh, which made Pavus and the students he was walking among glance back at him. Wary looks from most. Fine. One more mark that he was mad. It served his purposes. It did, he reminded himself, ignoring the spear of loneliness. Loneliness was useless. 

After prayers, they trudged as a herd to the mess hall to break their fast. Time and patience. More lines of the Chant. 

Poetry and a reimagining of history, but he liked it for the most part. He liked that the Imperium had succumbed to a worship of their enemy, in this one way. It felt like a kind of hope. 

Radical. Heresy.

He frowned outside the mess hall when Dorian headed right instead of left towards the library. “Ah… focus and meditation hour,” he said, nodding in the opposite direction.

“Mine is over here.”

Rilienus gritted his teeth. Ten years he’d been going from breakfast to the library to class to prayers. Every day, the same routine. A familiar rhythm like a heartbeat. Everything Dorian did made him arrhythmic. 

Soon, if - impossibly - Dorian managed to find a way to blend in, the capelet would come off, Rilienus would be allowed to return it and the blighted crop to the office, and he could return to his metronomic existence. 

So he would endure the changes. The shifts. Remember them when things were gray again instead of fragmented with Dorian’s colors. 

He followed his charge through marble halls. The energy in those cold, heartless walls was already beginning to shift, drawn to Dorian’s light like moths to a flame. Pupils turned their heads, eyes searching as he passed, shifting away again before they landed on Rilienus. 

_ Had he fallen? _ their expressions seemed to ask.  _ Had he been ground into the earth by the weight of his shackles _ ? 

Wide eyes and almost imperceptible smiles. Dorian didn’t balk from the attention. His eyes didn’t survey the floor. Pride and defiance. Quieter this time, but somehow the echoes of his rebellion managed to carry even further through the eaves of their borrowed home.

The courtyard was lined with trellises, grape vines snaking down over carved marble benches around a still, crystalline pool. Dorian tilted his head to look at him, a wordless question. Rilienus remained impassive. Better to say nothing. Better to not engage.

Dorian slipped behind a shaded screen. He could hear the unclasping of robes, the shifting of fabric. He tossed his uniform over the top of the shade, stepping out from behind it, body bared save that stretch between his belly button and his upper thighs. 

Solid, corded muscle, from head to toe. He’d felt Dorian’s planes through his robes, seen hints of them, just the day before. A statue of masculine beauty, animated. Wide shoulders, every muscle of his back immaculately carved. Arms that could have lifted him and thrown him over his shoulder like a bundle of silk. There was a shimmering around his eyes and hair, the slightest crackling of a barrier.

Dorian didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the water. He stretched his arms over his head, pulling at the elbow, dropping them, rolling his shoulders, tilting his neck until Rilienus could hear a distinct pop. Silent footsteps across the flagstones, towards the edge of the pool.

He bent at the waist, arms outstretched, nearly at the precipice. Dorian leaned forward, falling into the water below. Tension in his legs and toes, thighs braced and ready. At the last moment, an explosion of energy from his feet, propelling him, straightening his body into an arc as he glided into the water, with hardly a splash.

He swam for what seemed an eternity, his arms a controlled windmill, going underwater for a half-flip each time he approached the wall. Elegant, no moves wasted. Like he’d been doing it his entire life. Perhaps he had. 

Nose in his book, trying not to look up, trying not to watch Dorian fly through the water like a bird through air, shifting mass and muscle and…

A splash. Arms up on the side of the pool. A shadow of a smile. The hum of a barrier shifting around Dorian’s eyes and hair, keeping the water away. 

“You don’t intend to join us?” Dorian asked, with what  _ might have  _ been a hint of playfulness. “It must be stifling, in the sun, under so much cloth.”

Rivulets running down his neck, his chest, his shoulders. The beaded water on his arms was already evaporating under the sun. Melting caramel, he thought again, and dropped his gaze to his book with a draw of his brows. Rilienus had read the same paragraph several times now and still had no idea what it said. “Life is stifling,” he muttered, rubbing his knuckles past his lips to be positive he wasn’t drooling obviously. “And I’m not here.”

“A figment of my imagination? A hallucination? An illusion?” Dorian laughed, that stunning, charming smile lighting up his face. “Come closer so I can pinch you, then, make sure I haven’t lost my mind.”

Light and lightning. Dorian was his own sun. Meanwhile, Rilienus could feel the sweat sliding down his spine. He brushed his fingers over the short scruff of his beard a last time and dragged his attention away again. Ignore him. Just ignore Dorian, like the hallucination he’d teased him about being. How? When he could still see the water on Dorian’s shoulders in his mind’s eye? Could imagine how it might taste, cool on hot skin- to lick, to kiss, to- There were other students in the pool, water splashing as they took their laps. If only they would disappear. If the world could disappear and he could tear the stones with his teeth and set fire to the drapes and burn- “Focus,” he clipped, “and meditation.”

Dorian shrugged, dropping his arms back into the pool. “As you will, Maecilia. Try not to sweat through your robes.” He practically sang his name, a soft baritone, the corners of his lips curled in a satisfied smile.

He tried to center himself as Dorian slid back into the water again. Serpentine. Like the aquatic dragons of lore. Breath. Breath and the flow of energy between himself and the space around him. But the space around him touched the space around Dorian. Connection through sympathy. Through range. Through liquid heat and- He whistled mana to his fingertips quietly and tapped the inside of his wrist beneath the book, sending a scurry of frost up his arm to ward off the heat for a time. To cool his extremities, which were reminding him just how unwise he truly was. 

He managed to read half his paragraph by the time the bells sang. And by the time Dorian had emerged from the pool, water cascading off of his back like some sort of torturous fountain sculpture, he’d forgotten entirely what he’d managed to read.

He rose, tucking the useless tome into his satchel, and waited by the arches to silently accompany Dorian to their first class of the day. The capelet reflected the sunlight every time they emerged from the shade. Awful and garish and… red was not Dorian’s color. Blues. Greens. Black. Black would be excellent. Or dark leather, the color of rich loam in a vineyard along the coast- He sighed, wrists locked together at his spine, and was almost relieved when they reached the upper courtyard for martial practice. 

He enjoyed staff work. The simplicity of it. Focusing on the movement of his own muscles and the craft of drawing his opponents into believing he was weaker than he was. It was good practice. Like weaving and embroidery. Practical meditations on practical solutions. And a chance to not have to watch Dorian. A small break. A reprieve to regain his control. He set his satchel on the bench alongside the others, ignoring their sideways looks at the crop still belted to his side, and collected a staff from the wall, peeling off towards the far end of the courtyard. 

The footsteps that followed him made his teeth grit yet again. “What-“ he glanced back, finding Dorian a few paces behind him, “-are you doing?”

“Asking you to spar with me this morning. Thought it would be convenient, as you’re to spend an indefinite amount of time following me about anyway.” Dorian’s eyes were melted pools of steel, kohl-ringed and laughing, despite the impassiveness of his face. “What do you say, Maecilia?”

_ No _ , he wanted to shout.  _ Time, you want time. You need time. _ And, Maker’s breath, so did he. How was he meant to go on playing his part when he couldn’t find a moment’s peace to think of anything other than this laughing, grinning, beautiful, terrible man? He lifted his chin, “Haven’t I beaten you enough in the past day?”

Dorian shrugged again, that same damned movement as before. As though he didn’t care, even though his eyes betrayed him. “Glutton for punishment.”

He could feel the study of the other students. To them, Dorian looked like a challenger. Bravely standing up to yet another of the Order’s creatures. Was that his aim? To show them that fearlessness? Or did he actually want to- He rolled his eyes. “Perfect. More wasted time.” He shifted his staff between his hands, stalking to his place to stretch out his arms. Slow, he reminded himself. Slow and weak. How much could he stumble, he wondered, fighting his charge? How much would reach the Praeceptor’s ears? But then he couldn’t be too good, suddenly, either. Balance. Moderation. He twisted, opening up his back. “Let’s get it over with.”

Dorian moved to face him, his practice staff in hand, bowed his head slightly, and adopted a wide stance. He twirled his staff in the air, shifting it between his hands over his head, before tapping it gently on the ground again. That damned smile. “To arms, then?”

He glanced down the line as he took his stance. He didn’t feel as confident with quarterstaffs as half staffs, but that discomfort suited the situation. The added imbalance would help, he hoped. Something in Dorian made him want to flex, to show what he kept hidden, even when those revelations could only undermine him. “When you will it so.” He raised the staff before him. “I await you.”

##  Dorian 

A risk, another risk, Dorian was almost certain Rilienus would have chastised him for it had they been alone. Dorian was deliberately putting him in a difficult situation and for what? There were many answers, but the simplest one also made the largest contribution to his decision. 

He liked Rilienus. He wanted to see what he was capable of. To test his limits and then push him past them. 

There was another benefit too: he’d prove to them that he wasn’t a wild dog, ready to lash out at any authority who tried to collar him. That he believed in justice, appropriately administered. That he could follow the Maker’s will, or whatever the Order deemed it to be. 

Besides, Rilienus was becoming terribly easy to tease and he was becoming terribly fond of doing it. Dorian might wear the cape, and he the rod, but the two of them knew where the power was going to lie. 

Not to mention the sweet longing that filled him at the idea of Rilienus drenched in sweat, their bodies moving in sync, almost romantic, almost like dancing. 

He smiled, taking a moment to gaze into those bright green eyes, the curve of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jaw. Bowed his head again. Extended his staff towards his opponent, tapping Rilienus’ lightly, gentle practice strokes, his smile never faltering. 

It was not entirely unlike the times he’d played Wicked Grace. Not the liquor, or the ease of companionship, but the way that those green eyes narrowed and flicked. No muscle memory or reaction. Every single move, every feint and attack, all of it was planned. Crafted. Light and quick. High and low. He never once crossed the center line to press an advantage, not even when Dorian openly gave him an opportunity to do so. So careful. Wary. Watching. Brows drawn. 

He stumbled on a low swing, his balance off- Was it? Was it really? There- the flick of a glance towards the instructor, down the line. He frowned, the first expression since they’d begun, and that was the tell. The performance. He backed up and reset, wiping a hand on his robes. Another act. Did he ever let his guard down? Ever stop tracking who was watching him and from where? 

He had. For a moment. In the dark of the storage room. In the dawn light on the ramparts. Or had that been a performance as well?

Dorian flicked his staff once more, before tucking it behind his back and approaching. “Stance, Maecilia,” he said, just loudly enough so the adjacent pairs could hear. “Shift your weight. It’ll make you lighter on your feet, stop you from stumbling when I go for your ankles.”

Dorian tapped him, softly, on his foot. “Shift it back a touch.” 

An act. Dorian could play too. To what effect, he couldn’t say. Just to…

“If I wanted your advice, Pavus, I would ask for it,” he clipped, snipped, his eyes not rising from the ground. “Stay on your side.”

“Suit yourself, then,” Dorian said, his smile somehow still warm. Rilienus was weaving a lie, just like the altercation they’d had in the courtyard. Or… was everything else the lie? 

He didn’t believe that. It  _ had _ felt genuine. Rilienus has stopped watching over his shoulder. He’d seemed…

There were other ways to draw him out. 

Rilienus shifted on his feet, resting his weight back, demonstrating his target, then darted forward. Not a feint, then, even though it had seemed like one. He’d been preparing for a change in pace or direction and the lack of deception was almost as perplexing as his feints. He blocked the attack, twisting his staff to spin the other man off balance and watched as he caught himself and then let himself be spun out. Let himself. The cheat.

As soon as he was reoriented, Dorian was on him again. Step forward. Feint to the left, aiming towards his shoulder, before quickly angling towards his knees. Blocked, weakly. Dorian pushed him back, a smile still on his lips.

“Stance, Maecilia,” Dorian laughed. A breath. Rilienus collected himself again, his expression unreadable.

“My stance,” he hissed, “is  _ fine _ .” He flexed his fingers past his wrist and just the tiniest glint of  _ something _ darted from his fingertips to his skin. His shoulders tightened. The sweat that had beaded on his brow slipped away. “Mind your own.” 

Dorian bowed again, meeting his eyes, searching for anything,  _ anything _ . “As you wish.”

He quirked an eyebrow. A breath, and then he was moving again, his movements furious and relentless, pressing Rilienus backwards, sending shockwaves up his arms. Dorian turned, rapidly shifting from side to side, trying to force him off his balance, trying to tear down the wall and see what he was capable of.

He saw the moment when the thinking stopped- the lift of brows, the way his pupils opened to absorb the light. He felt it, too- in the quick hard crack of their staffs as Rilienus attempted to keep to the course and not be driven back off of it. 

And then Rilienus spun his staff around his hands, fast, nearly knocking Dorian’s own out of his grip. His eyes flashed-  _ there _ was something genuine, finally. Anger. He stepped back and dropped his staff to the ground, holding his hand to his chest as though he’d been hurt. Like a baby bird. But the breaths, quick and sharp through his nose, were a predator’s. “Yield. I yield.” His nostrils flared. “I’ll keep my hands, if you don’t mind.”

Dorian nodded, drawing his staff behind his back. “ _ Fasta vass _ , Maecilia!” His smile began to falter. Was his game worth the look Rilienus was fixing on him? Fire, finally breaking through the ice. “Quite a hit.”

“You put others at risk when you press your advantage recklessly,” Rilienus snarled, meeting his gaze. Blistering. Yes. Fire in the ice. But fear, too. Just a hint. “Remember your place or I’ll be forced to remind you.”

“My apologies,” Dorian said, his gaze fixed firmly on his eyes. His smile had finally disappeared. Was it worth it? The risk he put them both in, just to remind Rilienus what he was capable of? A taste of that blaze? “It will not happen again, Dominus.”

“See that it doesn’t.” The tiniest flex of his brows, upwards, winging, then he flexed his hand against his chest. And Dorian felt a brush against his shoulder. A quick cold breeze in the blistering heat. 

Dorian’s brows raised to match, his pulse racing, skin tingling. His smile returned, wide, crinkling the corner of his eyes. Unspoken secrets and shouted lies. “Would you honor me with another bout?”

“If you’re capable of demonstrating that you can control yourself,” he answered, fingers flexing.

Dorian chuckled, twirling his staff at his side, pressing it into the ground and leaning on it. “And how am I to do that? I’ve only given you evidence to the contrary thus far.”

“There is always the possibility of redemption,” Rilienus’ lip curled, just barely. “By Her Light.”

“Wise words. A moment, please.”

Dorian turned his back on him, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, setting his staff on the ground. Sweat trickled down his back in hot streams, dripping down his forehead. The morning was already blazing, no shade in the practice yard, his robes were stifling. He was wishing they were back at the pool, that he’d dragged Rilienus in with him and kissed away that nonchalance. 

He unclasped his robes, one silver prong at a time, letting the sweat-damp cloth slip over his shoulders. A flick of his wrist and it joined the other discarded robes, folding itself neatly on a bench. Staff in hand again, he turned to face his opponent, and bowed, the garish red cape still tied around his neck.

“Are you ready, Dominus?”

Rilienus blinked once, slowly, and bent to retrieve his staff. “That depends. Are you  _ comfortable _ ? Perhaps you’d like a fan? A glass of water?” he bit off the words, tension in his jaw.

“Oh, I’m more than comfortable. I feel much better now. The heat must’ve dulled my senses.”

“It’s a wonder you were able to hold yourself upright, then.” He rolled his shoulders, glancing away. “At your leisure.”

It was a cruelty and he knew it. A terrible, awful cruelty. Positively heartless. But the reaction, at least, was worth it. 

He raised his staff, touching them together again, laughter in his eyes. “Show me. I want to see what you’re capable of.”

The subtle curve dipped into a fraction of a frown. “As you will,” he murmured; lying through his teeth, the scoundrel. He was learning his tells now. The bare flickers around his eyes, the little quirks of his lips. Tells? Or was he telling him on purpose? 

Secrets shared between lovers? A means to control him? To draw him in, pull him closer? 

Did it matter? 

Dorian exhaled, stepping back, forcing Rilienus to pursue. The crack of wood as he blocked Rilienus’ prescribed swing, weakly. Reverberations through his arms from the impact. Another step backwards, forced away from the line, retreating. 

Drawing him along with him, leading him by withdrawing until they caught a strange sort of rhythm, like a downbeat, attacks and blocks- Clatter and breaths- He chanced a glance to Rilienus through the movement of their staves, caught his eye and  _ felt _ him stutter. Rilienus’ staff swung wide; the subtle shift in stance sent him sideways and he tripped, catching himself by digging his staff into the dirt. 

So that was what an actual stumble looked like. A stinging redness rushed in Rilienus’ cheeks and he smoothed a hand over his face, leaving a shimmer of cold crystals in its wake. “Reset,” he muttered.

“My apologies, Dominus.” Dorian returned to the line, repositioning his feet again.  _ Maker  _ he wanted to tug him close and kiss him. Rilienus looked years younger when he was flustered, more innocent, more  _ real.  _ The color on his cheeks sent a wave of heat through Dorian’s body. If they’d been alone... “I’ve never been particularly good at controlling myself.”

“It’s fine,” Rilienus glanced away from him, exhaling sharply. “I lost my rhythm. We’ll try again.”

Chuckling, lifting his staff, facing his opponent, the redness on his cheeks already fading, Dorian smiled again, as though he’d been given the keys to the Imperial Palace. “As you will, Dominus. I look forward to meeting your staff with mine.”

The  _ look _ in those eyes as they flicked to his could have turned parchment to tinder. Fire banked in sharp green, surrounded by a still, blank lack of expression. Like a spirit staring out of a statue, trapped in place, hungering for escape. 

The end of period bell clanged, echoing through the courtyard and Rilienus turned smartly on his heel, practically throwing his staff to the wall on his way to gather his satchel.

Dorian watched him go, leaving a fair distance between them as he gathered his things and dressed again. A moment of rest, of respite. Rilienus had earned at least that much.

##  Rilienus

No peace. He hadn’t had a second of bloody peace or reflection. Rilienus felt like he was on fire. The gall of the man. Grinning at him. Taunting him. Digging at his will with every word and look. Two hours of his eyes, his bare skin, his sweat and attention and smiles- then nothing. Barely a glance. 

He was doing it on purpose. He had to be. Gauging his effect. Trying to draw him out. 

Hour after hour. Class after class. Rilienus gritted his teeth, watching the shapely curve of the back of his head. The way his hair curled just so at his neck. The way he cast that bright smile on his classmates, apparently unconcerned by the scarlet banner he was forced to wear about his shoulders. Laughing. 

Laughing at him, no doubt. 

He’d won, hadn’t he? He’d twisted him around his little finger in moments and turned the game to his advantage and he knew it. Knew it and flaunted it. 

Rilienus dug his nails into his palm, focusing on pain, trying to remember what it had felt like only days before when he’d been blissfully isolated from  _ sensation _ . Awful, blistering, yearning  _ feelings _ . 

Perhaps it would have been better if he’d left it at suggestion. Let the Praeceptor think he wanted this role only to be denied it. Let one of the other prefects deal with Dorian. Doubtless, he’d have tied them in knots, too. Or would he? Perhaps someone less predisposed to this weakness might have withstood the flash of Dorian’s white teeth and the way beads of sweat drowsily dripped down his neck to dampen the collar of his robes. As it stood, there was no evidence at all that Dorian felt any weight of this punishment while Rilienus carried it across his shoulders like a beast of burden. Trailing behind him like a dog. 

Could they tell? Could they see through his attempts at looking cold and bored? He didn’t feel cold. He couldn’t reach that steel center. Steel was the color of his eyes, lancing through him, gazing up at him as his mouth closed around his-

He ground his back teeth, tightening his hand on the strap of his satchel as the final class of the day ended. Let him go and smirk with his new friends, then dinner, then prayers, then maybe he would go and douse himself in that damned pool in the dark. Try to freeze away the heat that was boiling his mind. 

He dragged his book out of his satchel, finding a bench to wait on while Dorian met with the same pair from lunch.  _ Friends _ . Horrifying. He scowled every time one of them glanced his way and felt only the slightest improvement to his mood when they hurriedly looked away. At least  _ someone _ recognized what he was there for. 

“I  _ heard _ someone had been struck down with a case of the Eye.”

Rilienus glanced up from the methodology for transmuting silk into silver at the sound of Heritia’s voice.

Dorian’s head didn’t swivel to face him, just continued with the story he had been telling the others, casting a tiny illusion in his hand to illustrate something to do with a leatherworker in Vyrantium.

“Dragon scales, he said. “From a Great Dragon, an ancient beast, big as a castle, and could probably  _ throw  _ a castle on you if it wanted.” Dorian chuckled, leaning back. “Nug leather.  _ Nug  _ leather. Oh sure, it was painted and treated and all the right things, but even a child would’ve known the difference. But somehow he managed to convince Magister Hessian to pay a hundred aurens for it. Wouldn’t have believed it possible had I not seen it with my own eyes. Addled, mother says. The poor man spent too long negotiating with the dwarves. Raw lyrium turns you batty.” 

The rest of his group had turned around, but still Dorian pretended not to notice. Rilienus could see the slight quirk of his lips. And the sharpening of Heritia’s expression as his gaze narrowed in the side of Dorian’s face, then flicked dangerously to his companions.

“Get,” he snapped. “Unless you want to be tainted by disobedience.”

Rilienus flexed his thumbs against parchment. “He’s serving his time. Let it be, Cornicen.”

“You’re not teaching him any respect,  _ Prefect _ .” Heritia twisted towards him. 

“Respect has to be earned.” 

“The-“ His broad, flat face hardened. “The Void did you just say to me?” 

“Gentlemen,” Dorian said,  _ finally _ turning to face them, the smug, self-absorbed Blighter. He was a picture of innocence, a sweet, oblivious--entirely fake--smile on his face. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No,” Rilienus clipped. “You mind your own business. And you,” he narrowed his eyes on Heritia. “Stop picking fights. When the Eye is complete, you can go back to being a Blight on everyone around you, but I’ll be damned if I have to nest on this egg any longer because of your sore feelings. Now piss off.” He watched Heritia’s cheeks blanche and he lowered his book to his lap, lifting his chin. “Unless you would like the honor of the cape next,” he sneered. “I would be more than happy to donate my arm to another week of whipping. I’m starting to limber up.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Rilienus felt the smile slide across his lips, knowing exactly what he dared. “Test my teeth, Cornicen. I beg you.” Hesitation. Frustration. Anger. He delighted in each expression as it passed across the man’s face.  _ Yes, fight me _ , he wanted to whisper.  _ Come and give me an excuse _ . He waited, baited, ready, and watched with disappointment as Heritia muttered under his breath and stalked away.  _ Pissant _ , he thought irritably and returned to his book with a glowering vengeance. 

Dorian didn’t look at him as he turned back to his classmates, his friends, not even an acknowledgement, other than the smirk that curled his lips. He caught a flick of Dorian’s wrist out of the corner of his eyes as Dorian started again on whatever tedious tale he was weaving. 

He felt a buzzing on his wrist, a tickle and a vibration. Electricity. Controlled, not enough to hurt, just enough to capture his attention. He pulled back his sleeve just in time to notice two words appearing, as though they were etched in his skin. 

_ Silencing wards?  _

Fire and ice, Void and dark, Maker and Bride. He shoved his book into his satchel and stood up. “You’re done,” he snapped and snapped his fingers. “Back to the dorms.”


	8. still wouldst thou sing(*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT AHEAD. You have been warned. :)

##  Dorian 

Flames, everything was flames, his skin was burning, melting away, reforming again. A phoenix roasting on a pyre, charring feathers and searing flesh. 

Rilienus’  _ voice _ ,  _ vishante kaffas _ , had he ever heard something so scintillating before? He wished Heritia was still there, he wished he could’ve watched Rilienus take him down, spill some of that fire on top of the bastard’s head while he watched. It would have been delicious to see him roasted by those delicate, careful hands like a pig on a spit. 

Hands that could embroider spells and stars, an entire world of knowledge, into silk. Hands that had skimmed across the surface of his skin like he was touching the work of the Maker. 

He’d been teasing before, had planned on backing off for the rest of his time as Rilienus’ charge. Dorian realized he’d been tormenting him; even though he had  _ meant  _ everything, it hadn’t seemed the right time to act on it. 

But Void take him, if he had to wait any longer after  _ that _ , he really was going to immolate. 

He followed Rilienus towards the dormitories, his steps quick and loud, echoing against the marble floors. Every step was agonizing, thrilling, a test of patience. He’d hoped the word ‘dormitories’ was just a ruse and that he’d be unceremoniously shoved into the nearest room with a door.

No, it seemed Rilienus meant it, to Dorian’s dismay. To wait that much longer.

Rilienus was liquid fire, scorching passersby with his gaze. Beautiful and violent like a sea in tumult. Dorian wanted to drink him up, fall deep into that pool of unfathomable rage, to let it wash over him.

Then they were at his door and Rilienus threw it open. And pointed. “Go. I’ll bring you your Blighted dinner before prayers.”

“Ril, what are you…” Dorian could feel his own eyes widen, his expression fall. “You’re not…? You’re not coming in?”

The heat of him, blistering, focused on him. “You asked for time,” he hissed, “now go and take it. I won’t be  _ toyed _ with. I’m not your spaniel.”

“ _ Toying  _ with you? Are you fucking  _ serious _ ?” Dorian slammed his fist against the door frame, wanting to scream in frustration. “You think I’ve been  _ playing games _ ? I’ve hardly had a single coherent thought since sunrise yesterday, even despite everything that happened. Maker’s breath, are you really that dense? Or just incapable of believing that I want you? Fuck, Ril, how many times do I have to say it?  _ I want you _ . I want to taste you. I want to be inside of you. I want…” 

Rilienus shoved him inside his room and followed him like a thunderstorm, kicking the door shut behind him as he caught him around the shoulders. He kissed him like he wanted to eat him alive, rough edges and hot spikes, teeth and tongue. “Do it,” he growled against his lips. “Do it, then.  _ Show me _ .”

Fingers pulling at clasps, trying not to rip them from their seams. So many damned  _ clasps _ , like they were put there to test his patience. Dorian parted Rilienus’ robes, slipping them over his shoulders, letting them cascade onto the old rug that covered the floor to his bedchamber. He pulled him close, running slender fingers up his sides, clutching the back of his neck with his other hand, devouring his lips. 

Sweat and lychee--Rilienus had been served the fruit at lunch earlier. The smell of ink and old books wasn’t quite as strong today. 

“I want to finish what I started.” A growl in his own voice, guttural and yearning. “I’m  _ going _ to finish what I started.” 

He dropped to his knees, pulling down the thin silk of Rilienus’ breeches with him. The woven rug beneath his knees was much more forgiving than the castle’s stones. Dorian touched Rilienus through his smalls before dropping them too, freeing his cock.

Without preamble or warning, Dorian took him in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue along that soft, smooth skin, moaning against him. Maker, he was beautiful, his skin as hot as a furnace, already flushed from rage or passion or--likely--both. Dorian took him in deep, his hands pinning his hips in place, not allowing him to shy away. No retreating. No escaping. No putting up those damned walls again to keep him out.

Rilienus gripped his shoulders, bowed, a shredded moan in his throat. “Dorian-” he gasped, grasped. His hips fought the pressure of Dorian’s hands, bucking reflexively, his excessive control in ashes, scattered on the floor with his robes. “Ah- Maker’s breath-” One of his hands splayed at the back of Dorian’s neck, the heel of his palm pressing down his spine, pawing at his robes. “This-” he panted, “This. Off.”

“Take it off me, then,” Dorian said, drawing back, looking up at him for a beat. “Or let me finish. Bit busy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“ _ Fasta vass _ ,” he groaned, raking his fingertips across Dorian’s shoulders. Ice and fire, a tremulous whistle, the blush of temperature across his flesh, then he felt Rilienus’ fingers on his bare skin as the seams of his robe fell apart like melting snow. 

A flush of heat, right to his groin. His breath caught, shuddering, almost choking. He drew down quickly, lingering as he licked his way back up Rilienus’ shaft before slamming down against him again, unyielding as steel. Over and over, inexorably, tasting him in his mouth, feeling him in the back of his throat. Hands tangling in his hair, running down his spine, hands he wanted everywhere all at once. 

“Yes-” The man groaned. The mind reader. Trying his best to do just as Dorian wished without knowing. Instinct. His hands sliding over his flesh, tracing the backs of his ribs and the angles of his shoulders; grabbing hold to remain aloft as his knees buckled. “Dorian-” he gasped again, like a wish, like an oath. “Dorian, I can’t-”

Dorian felt Rilienus’ body tense underneath his fingers, the warning was unnecessary. Clenching fingers as his muscles spasmed. Dorian moaned with him, craving his release, thrilling over it. 

Liquid fire, as hot as the sun, boiling him alive. Rilienus’ hips jerked, filling Dorian’s mouth, salty and bitter and ever so slightly sweet as he licked him and stroked him until the tremors finally ceased. 

Dorian’s eyes were closed, in reverence, a prayer. He pulled Rilienus down, onto the plush rug, enveloped him in his arms and kissed him, the taste of him still heavy on his tongue.

“Dorian,” Rilienus sighed against him, dazed, murmuring his name like he was sipping nectar from honeysuckles. He ducked his face against Dorian’s neck, cheeks hot against his skin, and the hands that had grasped and pulled at him turned tentative as they rested against him. “Are you well?” he whispered. 

“Never better,” Dorian breathed, pressing against him like that shield Rilienus had summoned the morning before. “I wasn’t toying with you. Maker, no. Teasing, a little. Letting you know I still wanted you. This. Trying to gauge if you did, too.”

“Old gods and new,” he shuddered, kissing his throat. “I threw you in here like- I didn’t mean to- That was-“ Rilienus tightened his hold on him. “But you’re alright.”

He chuckled, opening his eyes and brushing a stray lock of hair back into place. “Of course I am. What do you think I’ve been trying to get you to do to me all day? I couldn’t very well  _ tell  _ you to find the nearest door with a lock and take me, could I? Settled for the next best thing. I got some fire out of it too—Maker, Ril. ‘Test my teeth’?  _ Vishante kaffas _ , you could’ve taken me right on the table after that.”

“Foolish,” Rilienus’ brow furrowed, tracing the ward on Dorian’s arm. “That was foolish. He incenses me. But he’s always incensed me. I shouldn’t have risen to it.”

“Had you not, he’d have challenged me, and we couldn’t have that, could we?” Dorian smiled, squeezing him. “I was playing nice in the dueling hall. I’ve barely shown a glimmer of what I can do.”

“I believe you.” 

“It was the lesser of two evils. I don’t like hurting people. I  _ don’t _ . Even scum like him. But if I thought he was going to move against  _ you _ …”

“Void, don’t. Don’t borrow trouble. You’ve enough of your own.” He tilted his head back to meet his eyes. “I may not seem like it, but I’ve been handling people like him for a very long time.”

“Borrow trouble?” Dorian laughed again, lightly, like a breeze. “I’ve just been heaping piles of it on your head since I arrived. Maybe I should take some of it back. Give me something to do.” 

“No. No more things to do.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Fine. Fine. My best behavior, at least until I can get rid of this hideous thing.”

“Andraste’s tears, when you came at me with just the bloody garish Eye on you, I could have wept,” he rolled his eyes, his voice ragged. “I hate it. I hate that it’s on you. I thought-“ Rilienus shut his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“It matters to me,” Dorian said, tilting his chin. “Tell me?”

“You asked- I thought- I was trying to-“ Rilienus exhaled slowly, opening his eyes to stare at Dorian’s ear. “I thought you were taunting me. Using what you knew of me to- Punishing me for what I’ve-“ 

Dorian stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified. “Rilienus, look at me. Please.”

He winced, frowning. “It appears I was mistaken.”

“Assumptions, Ril. We need to correct your basic assumption of me. I know… I know the way you look over your shoulder. I saw the way you were holding back. I know you don’t trust anyone here, maybe not anyone, anywhere, ever.” Dorian sighed. “I… can’t ask you to trust me. I can’t imagine how hard… But, I don’t know. I hope that eventually you realize that I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not going to use you. And I’ll be honest with you. I hope that one day you can understand why I’m here.”

“What if I ask?” Rilienus whispered. “What if I ask you to use me?”

“What? Why would you…?”

He glanced up. Green glass, a muddle of red marring his sharp perfection. “I like you,” he muttered, hushed. “I don’t- I wouldn’t mind if you did. Wouldn’t mind,” he rolled his eyes. “I can think of little else.”

Dorian exhaled, relaxing again, leaning into him. “You want me to make love to you? It doesn’t have to be using you.  _ Fasta vass _ , is there someone whose face I need to bloody?”

“No bloodying. No things.” Rilienus frowned. “I don’t want to walk about with a crop at my hip any longer than necessary.”

“I know. I just…  _ Kaffas _ . I want to make love to you, too.”

“Good.” He nuzzled at his neck, kissing up the line of his throat. “Now?”

“Already?” Dorian chuckled, tilting his head to meet his lips. “Silencing wards. And yes.”

Rilienus brushed his fingers up Dorian’s chest. He tapped one of myriad bracelets that graced his wrists, gold and silver braided. “For future reference. This-” He unbuttoned the single iridescent pearl that bound it in place and unraveled it, revealing a shimmering gossamer web. He rolled to his back and tossed the charm on the floor with a series of low whistles. Silver light erupted from the web, casting its glow across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The door’s lock clicked as it latched. “-does that.”

“ _ Philomela mea, _ you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? One right after the other.” Dorian smiled, the gesture as easy as breathing. “Come here and let me love you.”

##  Rilienus

He was beautiful. Irrepressible. Muscles and angles and power, inside and out. Bare before him, splayed on the floor. Glorious, melting caramel in the close heat of the small room. 

Rilienus skimmed his fingertips down the center of Dorian’s chest. Ah, he was a fool, but he was a beautiful fool. Too full of hope, of trust, of life. He was a fire blazing in an arctic tundra, softening everything around him even as he inevitably revealed himself to all the waiting beasts in the dark. Himself and those willing fools who flocked to him. 

To be alive. To risk. To breathe for a moment. To gaze straight ahead. To touch. To kiss. To taste. He groaned, rolling against Dorian’s side. Warm and willing. Yes. Wanting. Yes. Wanton. Rilienus lapped at his chest, feeling his heart thud against his tongue, allowing his fingers to stray lower, lower still. The ladder of his ribs, cloaked in tight muscles that spanned his abdomen. The inviting curve of his hip. 

How many frenzied, hushed meetings had he indulged in darkness and shadows and half-light? Had he ever lingered? Once, he supposed, years before. When he’d been naive enough to think that what he felt might yet matter to someone, might yet last. When he’d used words like ‘love’. When he’d thought words had any reliable meaning- weren’t changeable as wind, malleable as silk.

He knew better now. Time and experience had trained him to keep distance. To keep deniability. He knew better. 

And still. 

“I’ve been wanting to taste you again,” he murmured, lips on the smooth, tight plane of his chest, “since the bells. Your skin,” he licked and kissed his way down his body, “was made to be touched. It demands it. The scent of you,” he raked his teeth over the tight indent of Dorian’s navel, “is spice and salt, sage and smoked divining mushrooms- awakening and dizzying. I can taste you on my tongue long after I leave you. Before I kissed you, I could taste you. I could feel your touch lingering on my chin. A compulsion. A rune.” 

Divinity and temptation. Discipline and abandon. 

He wrapped his fingers around Dorian’s shaft and bent to taste him, tender, bittersweet and salty as caviar. Velvet smooth, thick and growing under his attention. Magnificent and edible. He hummed his pleasure, stroking Dorian as he allowed himself to indulge. Musk and sweat and the scent of ardor- Rilienus breathed them in. 

Breathed  _ him _ in. 

Maker, yes- He wanted this, wanted him, wanted to soak up his fire like an oil-soaked cloth and burn. And Dorian - glorious, powerful, reckless, Fadesent Dorian - wanted him. Throbbed for him. Dripped for him. Arched and moaned beneath his lips and tongue and hands. Reached for him. 

After everything. After nothing. 

Rilienus whispered kisses up the length of him, tracing glyphs upon his skin until he was gleaming with summoned slick. He licked his lips as he sought Dorian’s gaze, finding quicksilver where there was often steel. “I’d very much like you to help me test my silencing ward now.” 

“Maker, I hope you’re better at wards than you are at staff work,” Dorian said with a wink, taking his hand and kissing it. 

“Complaints-” he glanced down, smirking slightly, “-on my staff work, have you?”

“Mmm...” Dorian chuckled, running a hand through his hair, contented and smiling. “No. I  _ knew  _ you were playing us all for fools.”

“Did you?” He turned his cheek to press into Dorian’s palm. “You know everything. You see everything. Is that it?”

“Not in the slightest,” Dorian said, running his thumb along Rilienus’ cheek. “But I see potential. And I see it being locked away in a cabinet. I enjoyed seeing a bit of that talent today, even if I had to torture you for a glimpse.”

“Talent,” Rilienus scoffed. “You needn’t placate me, you’ve already won.”

“I’m not placating you. No platitudes. I mean it. I mean everything I say to you.” Dorian rolled his eyes, pulling him up into a kiss. “I haven’t ‘won’ until you realize that. I’ve been victorious in a few battles, yes, but the war is far from over.”

“Take another victory then,” he murmured against his lips, stealing his fingers into that raven hair. “ _ Comme le chevalier Joaquin Geraint a percé le dragon de Monsimmard, percez-moi à mon coeur. _ ” 

“ _ Comme vous commandez, mon rossignol _ .” Dorian’s voice was a low, husky whisper. “Teach me what you like.  _ Je veux t'entendre chanter pour moi _ .”

“Would you.” He kissed the corner of his mouth, following the curve of his moustache to its point as he settled over him. “Would you really. There  _ is _ a song I’ve been working on. One that might suit.” The sound of Dorian’s voice was soft fur wrapping around his mind, pulling tight, warm and decadent. Rilienus hummed with that warmth, collecting it on his tongue and inside of his skin, letting it radiate and resonate through him, softening his senses and his muscles. Notes blossomed across his tongue, behind his teeth, through his nose, a thrumming chord that used his body as its instrument. He pressed his fingers to the center of his chest to find the core of the tone and let it sink down through him, opening a channel between breath and life. 

Alone. He’d done this alone hundreds of times since he’d learned the art. Tweaking and perfecting and altering the edges of similar spells until he could ride one note to a quiet humming sense of calm. Or whatever other pleasure he chose. He’d never used the skill with someone else, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t imagined it. Hadn’t once wished for someone he could let his guard down with enough to  _ show- _ show what he’d found, what he was capable of, what was  _ possible- _

Sitting up, he reached back to take Dorian’s shaft in his hand, caressing him and guiding him to press between his cheeks. Close. Achingly close. Firm and strong and watching him with such apparent curiosity and trust. He held the note, breathing through his nose… and let go. His muscles relaxed, his eyes rolled back, and he felt his tension evaporate from him like so much mist in a sunstorm. 

Blessed unity- the vision of golden Andraste in his mind’s eye, radiating. He shifted his hips back, guiding the head of Dorian’s cock up and against him as sound carried mana throughout his body. Languorous with power and vibration, he eased the firm, slick head of Dorian’s phallus inside- Pressure. Welcome breathless pressure- Rilienus let his head fall back, opened as the buzzing of the tones built in his jaw, behind his teeth, behind his eyes- His thighs ached with the effort of controlling his descent, but he wanted this- wanted him- wanted to be whole and full and ablaze. He wanted the storm he’d witnessed in that classroom to fill his body like a sail. 

And it did- Maker’s tears, every inch of him he took, he felt Dorian’s connection to the Fade expand through him, focus and channel- He felt tears touch his cheeks with the beauty of it- pure, unfiltered possibility - as he sank fully onto him. He wanted to laugh, actually laugh, for the first time in ages. Melt and resolve again and again. Honey and beeswax and ancient seals torn asunder-

Too much, his own voice reached him as though from a distance. He’d only theorized what might happen if he did this with someone else. Testing it alone, warded, in the dark. But there was a power that Dorian had access to that he hadn’t anticipated- raw and violent, dark, sweet, and succulent as pomegranate wine. 

He shuddered, spread his palm on Dorian’s chest and opened his eyes, peering out through the fading sheen of gold light. He felt as though his bones had been dissolved, as though his teeth had turned to diamonds- “D-d-did-“ he breathed, his voice reverberating in his head like an echo, “Did you- That was- different than an-  _ oh _ , antic- anticipated-“ He shuddered again, thoughts turning to effervescent froth in his tongue, as a wave of frenzied  _ want _ crashed through him. “ _ Now- _ Kaffas, I need you-“ 

Without the song, without the tones holding him weightless and open, tension leapt back into his body, forcing his hips to rock with the sudden eye-crossing fullness and- “Please- please-“

Dorian’s lip was bleeding, his teeth still clamped tightly down on the tender flesh. A glow on his skin. Holding back.  _ Maker _ , he was holding back. All that power and Dorian had been holding  _ back _ . To keep them both from being consumed, their bodies transmuted into raw energy, leaving nothing but scorch marks on the floor.

Rilienus laughed, the sound as foreign to his ears as a sermon in Qunlat. 

“S-self-focusing. Ma-magnetism induced by the hydrodynamic flow of mana from an area of higher to… lower resistance.  _ Interesting _ .” Dorian was panting, breathing heavily, leaning up to hold him as the grip of the spell released them both. His eyes were changing from violet back into steel. “Dangerous.  _ Very  _ dangerous, Ril. Warn me. Not accustomed. Your body isn’t accustomed to it.” 

Only now that he was laughing, he couldn’t stop. Not accustomed- How was anyone  _ accustomed- _ How  _ could _ anyone- And how could Dorian bear to speak? To carve words out of aether when everything was said in the space between?  _ Everything- _ He was on fire, his veins singing and resonant, he could  _ taste _ the Fade on his tongue- 

Dorian wiped the blood from his mouth and claimed his lips, pressing into him, devouring him, salt and sweat and warm, sweet slick. “You’re beautiful,” Dorian murmured, the words vibrating against his skin. “Glorious, dynamic, brilliant, so brilliant, starlight on a moonless night.” Dorian thrust inside him, tenderly, as though he was afraid to shatter him. Holding back again. Holding back,  _ always  _ holding back, even when it seemed like he was giving everything. Sympathy, the space between, echoes and abstraction- No wonder he’d recognized the same tendency in Rilienus. 

“Need you--I need you, too,” Dorian moaned against his shoulder. 

Rilienus arched, sinew and mercury, rolling his hips to meet those gentle thrusts. Not enough- not enough- Was anything? Was- He pressed his mouth to Dorian’s shoulder, teeth raking skin, “More.” He lapped at the sweat, sweet, vibrant ozone and spice of the man’s skin, kissing his way up his neck hungrily until he could taste his lips and the copper of his blood and the mana of his tongue- “More-“ he grinned, unsure how the expression even fit on his own features. He felt  _ fierce _ ; he wanted to swallow the moon, knew he could if he tried, if he opened up and followed that current to the sky, he could pierce the Veil and swallow the second moon- eat it whole, grinding it in his teeth like a cashew and spitting out stars- He gripped Dorian’s shoulders and drove onto him again- deep, piercing him to his core- not a turn of phrase- No- He needed this- Needed Dorian to be what he was- Needed for them both to be exactly who and what they were- “More.”

The subtle shift in the Veil as Dorian cast again, lightning at his fingertips, lightning on his skin, lightning humming and thrumming through the length of his cock, filling him with another surge of that power. Dorian was in control again, and now,  _ Maker _ , he knew what that control meant. He could fry him from the inside out. Turn his body to ash with a thought. 

Dorian’s hands on his hips, guiding him back down against him, driving deeper into him, rocking against him, every movement causing electricity to arc, tendrils of power connecting every place their bodies weren’t touching. 

“Too much?” Dorian asked, but he could barely hear the question above the hammering of his heart and the rush of his blood in his ears.

“No-“ He groaned loud and low, riding him in earnest- He could turn into mist, into ash, evaporate and reform more whole than before- He could touch the outlines of the world, imbue them with gold and inscribe them with their true names to wreak havoc and beautiful chaos- He could see the tight edges of his ward like a web around the room- Could reach out and pluck it if he wanted, send the echo of its silence out, out, out- He sucked Dorian’s tongue into his mouth and hummed along it. Old gods and new- words- What words could he say to peel Dorian open and crawl inside and sink himself into that riot and chaos- To show him that he wouldn’t break, couldn’t- Nothing could break him- Nothing ever would- “Good- It’s good-“ His voice was split in three, braiding through itself- He could see the sky shredded and ragged seamed, the Fade pouring out into the waking world and rebuilding it from its atoms- He could feel it- Could feel everything- feel Dorian inside him and around him- The- “All of it- I want all of it-”

Eyes wide with surprise and something else. Fear? Concern? The snap as Dorian severed their connection was as intense as the connection itself, a jolt sending shockwaves through every muscle, his entire body contracting at once. The crush of their lips, slick with blood, as Dorian slammed him down, relentless, merciless as the storm that surged inside of him. Dorian held him tightly, his fingernails clawing into skin that had longed to be touched, begged, pleaded, needed to be touched for so many years that it was like the actualization of a dream. 

“Too much--” Dorian panted, his voice unsteady and ragged, torn like the fabric of his robe. “Too much for now. But there are other sources of power.”

“Dorian-“ Rilienus lapped at him, dragging Dorian tighter, closer, on top of him; he drew his knees up to fit himself against the man like the key to a puzzle box. “Nothing-“ he exhaled, buzzing at the edges of his senses, “is too much-“ He could feel the well of his potential like the open sky and the endless Fade, feel the trickle of it still, even when Dorian tried to shut it down, close it off- It lived inside of him, in his flesh, his breath, his fingertips- His nostrils flared as he tugged at Dorian’s bloody lip with his teeth, sinking his fingers into his flesh. His firm back. His broad shoulder. His high, tight- “Invincible. We are invincible.” He shivered, shuddered, kissing him again and again. “Let me show you- Let me feel you-“

“Rilienus.” A voice like a summer breeze, a buffer against the wildfire, a calm, cool well at odds with the way he was moving inside of him ceaselessly. Still not enough, never enough, never ever enough. “Rilienus, Ril, my--” Dorian’s voice was a strangled cry, echoing through the maelstrom. “I’m--”

“Yes-“ He swallowed Dorian’s shouts, feeling the vibrations like warm champagne rushing down his throat and into his limbs. Mana and lightning and edible all- “Yes, yes, yes-“ he groaned, gasped, buzzing, electric inside and out, as Dorian thrust into him, seating himself again and again and again- “Ah, gods, yes- Yes!” 

The blossom of heat inside him was summer honeysuckle and mead; he could taste it- his body an electrified single organ- taste, touch, smell, sight all wound together into one- He caught Dorian’s last shout in his throat as the man shook and collapsed against him, and - impossibly - Rilienus followed him, his eyes rolling back in his head with the undertow of exaltation. 

They lay, panting and torn asunder on the rug, on the floor, in the room, in the Tower, in the city, in the Empire, in the world- Stillness was dizzying. Too much air, too much skin, not enough push and pull and pulse- As if he could move. As if he could be anything other than shattered diaphanous crystal, molten ice, and edible glass. Rilienus blinked slowly, dazed, trying to refocus through his outer eye rather than the inner. 

Velvet and hot rain and sweat and smoke. He could taste smoke. He tried to lift his head, but it was as though he were lead-filled, charred and flattened. His arms were still locked around Dorian, caught in space, suspended- “Fire?” he asked, bleary. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed, or if it had, or if time existed outside of the concept. He wasn’t sure that it mattered. If there was time, or fire, or a world at all.

No. The fire was inside of him. Burned and boiled. Lines of it still zinging restlessly through his tapped form in quick, tiny torrents.

Dorian’s breath was hot and unsteady against his cheek; his heartbeat a riot of war drums. His weight- sweet and sweat and exhausted muscle- pressing Rilienus’ spine into the rug. 

Exhausted muscle housing inexhaustible power. Rilienus traced the arch of Dorian’s brow with his gaze and felt his lips curve despite himself, slow and unspooling. He chuckled with the effort of breathing, empty and effervescent, his teeth still buzzing, and let his eyes fall shut. Whole. 

##  Dorian 

So  _ that  _ was what lay beyond the shimmering wall of ice. The shield of steel that kept the rest of the world at bay. An insatiable hunger, just waiting like a kraken under the surface of the waves. More than he had anticipated. More than he ever could have expected. More than he knew was possible.

He finally,  _ finally,  _ felt a fire that could match his own.

Dorian rolled off of him, helping him to his side, enveloping him in his arms. He could feel the worry lining his own brows. He reached for Rilienus’ hand, knotting theirs together, holding it just above his navel. 

Remembering how to breathe. Drawing himself back into his body. Centering and recentering-- _ How _ could he find his median when he was so suddenly reminded that edges were limitless? Falling back to earth when they had been floating past the clouds. 

“Hmm…” He sighed against Rilienus’ shoulder, still smoldering with the energy he’d challenged, pressing kisses to warm, tender flesh. “Different than anticipated,  _ mon rossignol _ ? You don’t say.”

“I haven’t attempted it in tandem before. Amalgamation-“ Rilienus’ voice was raw and lethargic as an ice floe. “I should have-“ There were tremors beneath his skin, little fluctuations. Laughing. What a strange, sweet sound. “You’re well?”

Dorian felt the laughter rise in his own chest, the sound warm and welcoming, sunshine after months of rain. 

“Well?  _ Well _ ?” Dorian hummed the words, feeling them resonate through his body, down to his toes. “More than well. I feel infinite. But how are  _ you _ ? It can be… I don’t know, actually. Nobody has ever tried to channel me before. How are you feeling?”

“If I’d  _ planned _ to channel you, I’d have asked. Or- no. I simply wouldn’t have-“ Dorian couldn’t see his face, but he could feel his body- tensing and releasing. “I could drink the sea and rebuild it into sky in my mouth.”

Stroking the back of his hand with his thumb, soft, supple skin, a smile against his shoulder. “Intoxicating, isn’t it? Dangerously intoxicating. Power you could drown in.”

“No- not drown-“ he twisted to meet Dorian’s gaze. His pupils drowned his eyes, leaving the barest rims of emerald around endless black. His lip curled into a smirk like an aftershock. “Feast.” 

“I hope you drank your fill,” Dorian’s brows knotted, the corners of his lips turning down into a frown. Slender fingers cupping his cheek. “I can’t allow it to happen again. Too risky. Too dangerous for you. Even now, you’re drunk on it.”

“Whiskey,” Rilienus whispered, rolling to face him, tangling their legs together, brushing his lips to Dorian’s. “Smoke and wine.” He kissed him lazily. “What’s life without risk?”

Dorian laughed, laughing again, rolling his eyes. “The paragon of virtue has crumbled, I see. I hadn’t thought you’d be so easy to persuade. You assured me you wouldn’t be, more times than I can count. Yet here you are, lapping up my mana like a man dying of thirst, begging for more as soon as I yanked the chalice from your hands.”

“I never claimed to be a paragon, nor virtuous.” He stroked his hand down Dorian’s side. “Did you not  _ feel _ that? Were you not there? Just now? With me? The seams all binding together, creating light, gold out of air-“ he breathed, rocking against him. “How can you not  _ want _ that? What kind of deviant are you?”

Dorian turned away, sighing deeply, a piece of his soul leaving with his breath. “The kind of deviant who doesn’t want to see the world burn just to watch the colors dance on the horizon. It’s seductive, calling me from inside my bones, day and night, ceaselessly. I fear that one day I’ll be tempted to loose it on the earth, drawn like a moth to a flame.”

“You  _ are _ the flame.” Rilienus caught his chin between his fingers, following. Searching his gaze. And Dorian could see the faint crackle of his storm in those dilated depths. “Maybe the world needs to burn. What the Void has it ever done for us? Cages and walls.” He thumbed Dorian’s lip, bright and sharp as a knife. “More color. More light. More heat. Let me share it. Let me. I’ll burn it for you.”

“I know. I know, I know, I know, Rilienus. The world is cruel and harsh and unforgiving, pinning us in, animals led to slaughter.” Dorian pulled him closer, wrapping him in his arms, wanting desperately to squeeze out the sadness, the loneliness, the fear, the frustration. “But for all of its flaws, it brought me to you.”

“It did nothing of the sort.” Rilienus kissed him hard. “Lies threw me in here, stole my life, locked the door, and threw away the key. And you-  _ you _ brought us together. Nothing else.  _ You _ did. Like a tide.” He panted against Dorian’s lips, “Don't you want danger? Don’t you want to  _ live _ ?” He swallowed, brows drawing together. “Me? Is it that you don’t want me?”

Hurt, pain, and anger, lashing out. Dorian drew him in, wishing Rilienus could  _ see _ what it was doing to his mind. Controlling him, using him as a conduit, spiraling out of control. He wasn’t ready,  _ Maker _ , how could he have been? How could he have known? His words stung like sharpened steel, like salt drawn across an open wound. 

Dorian drew upon that center of serenity, the mortar and brick that kept the torrent at bay, forcing his voice to remain steady, even when it felt like it would shatter. 

“No. No. No, Rilienus.” A burning in his throat, a tightness in his chest. Fear and worry and-- “Listen to me, Ril. I can’t let it burn you up. I  _ won’t _ . I won’t watch it consume you. Don’t ask it of me, please, I’m begging you.”

“I am listening,” he murmured, lips to his own, lychee and beeswax and squid ink and parchment. “I don’t feel consumed,” he hummed softly. “I feel  _ alive _ . Years I’ve dreamed of wings, Dorian. And I can  _ feel _ them now. I can feel  _ you _ .”

“Do you trust me?” Hands tangling through dark curls, tucking them behind perfect ears. “Can you try to trust me?”

“Is this not trust?” he asked, all bewilderment. “I see you. I see you and you are beautiful.”

Dorian chuckled against his cheek, kissing him tenderly, soft as a cloud. “Flattery. Flattery won’t change my mind, Rilienus. You can’t ingratiate yourself any farther.” 

“Truth.” Rilienus nuzzled against him, “You are the most beautiful creature- mythic and impossible, textured like velvet and satin, full of so much light that it shines out of your eyes and through your skin and leaves marks where you touch.”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ .” That same tightness in his throat, burning him, not unlike the magic that had thrummed between them. “You can’t just  _ say  _ those things. Don’t you know how it feels to hear them?” 

“No,” he whispered, licking his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Show me.”

A kiss on his chin, his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his eyes, his forehead. Dorian kissed his lips, feeling like he could float off the ground, sweet and tender and gentle, summer sunshine and sand and an endless, limitless ocean.

“I love you.” A shattered croak, broken, like glass shards scattered on the ground. “I love you.” Sound melting together, icebergs consumed by the sea. “I love you, Rilienus.” Tears sliding down his cheeks like molten silver, catching kohl and beaded sweat in their wake. “I never thought I’d be able to say that to anyone. Not ever. But  _ Maker _ , how I’ve wanted to.” 

Rilienus brushed his fingers up the side of his neck, cupping his cheek and kissing him, lingering. “I know.” His lips caught Dorian’s tears as though they were droplets of wine. “I saw. I felt. You are so full. Overflowing. ” He rubbed his lips across Dorian’s cheek, “I wonder if you are capable of anything other than love. I want to swim upstream in your torrent and build a home in your source. Right in the eye of it.” He kissed the corner of Dorian’s eye. “Say it again. Tell me, and I’ll tell you, and for once we’ll say words that mean something.”

Laughter, the world was full of laughter and light. Dorian giggled, like a child--when was the last time he’d laughed like that? When had he felt so weightless? Had he ever? Even in the relative innocence of childhood, his days had been laced with disappointment and crushing loneliness. 

To be seen, to be felt, to be  _ known _ , down to his very core…

“I love you,” Dorian repeated, his voice liquid sunlight, flawless, unmarred, a shimmering slip of divinity. “Maker help me, I do.”

“Andraste loves an underdog,” Rilienus smirked, kissing him. Again. Again. “I love you, Dorian Pavus. Maker help us all.”


	9. That I might drink, and leave the world unseen (*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some parts of this chapter are NSFW.  
> Other warnings: Magic wine and discussions of violence.

##  Rilienus

Robes. Walls. Lies. False faces. 

He hummed quietly, leaning back into the circle of Dorian’s arms, feeling his breath and lips and whiskers against the side of his neck. To be held. Cradled. Kissed as he whistled thread back to and through the seams of Dorian’s robes, guiding it with his will and fingertips, reminding it where it had once been. 

Loved. 

He shivered, letting his head rest against Dorian’s. Rilienus hadn’t been entirely sure he was still capable of such things. Desire, certainly. Hunger. Envy. Yearning. Lust. But he’d felt that wellspring inside of Dorian as he’d ridden his power, ridden him- He’d felt that deep pool of love, like a living, breathing thing, and recognized its emaciated twin in himself. 

And as the electrifying, soaring rush of Dorian’s power ebbed back out of him, that tiny, flickering flame inside of him remained. And a different kind of rush took its place. Moths and sunlight. He kissed Dorian’s cheek and held up the dark green robes, squinting at them. “Passes inspection, I think.”

“You’re quick.”

“Some patterns are simple; they fall into place, if you let them.” 

He didn’t want to give them back. Didn’t want to don his own robes, either. Dorian’s skin against his own- that was what he wanted. His lips. His hands. His chest. His back. His legs. His ass. Stunning, every part; all gleaming caramel, tangible, cloaking impossible power. 

Little wonder that Dorian was so viscerally alive. He was housing a whole world inside of him. 

He made himself dress, rolling his eyes when his fingers stubbornly stumbled over the familiar clasps. And that was the simple part. He ran a hand over his face, fighting the determined curling of the corners of his lips. “Someone’s going to know.”

“No one will,” Dorian laughed. 

“I can’t stop smiling,” he complained, gathering Dorian to him. “Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me it’s all a lie.” 

“And have the Maker smite me where I stand?” Dorian’s smile was as bright as the sun and as wide as the sea. Another kiss, like wine on his lips. “Deception. Perish the thought.”

He was jealous of Dorian;  _ he _ could smile without drawing questioning looks. Wouldn’t need to act, to play a part. He was never anything other than himself. What an amazing thing, to be the only truth in a den of lies.

He drew his brows and bit the inside of his cheek. Years he’d been hiding his expressions, his thoughts, his intentions. There had to be some kind of muscle memory, didn’t there? Or was it like with the robes? Was this the pattern he’d been meant to find? How was he supposed to break it? He exhaled sharply and glanced at the looking glass. 

Too bright green and the curve of a smirk. “Perishing is the concern, yes,” he muttered. He wanted to pull their robes off again, sink to his knees, and make Dorian’s head fall back in pleasure. He dabbed his tongue to his lips and furrowed his brow more. “You’ve broken my face.”

Dorian looked at him, thumb under his chin, tilting his head, turning him this way and that, pressing kisses to both cheeks. “You know, I think it might be an improvement! As difficult as it is to imagine…”

He arched a brow, sliding his hand up Dorian’s back, “I’m not  _ supposed _ to improve. I’m a dullard. Obedient. Virtuous. Dullard.” Rilienus punctuated each of the words with a kiss. “Don’t  _ you _ go forgetting or we’ll be lost.”

Dorian chuckled, the ridiculous fool. Always laughing. Laughing through life. “My memory is impeccable. Here, allow me to practice.” He straightened his back, clearing his throat loudly before speaking in a voice that bordered on ridiculous in its obsequiousness. “‘Yes, Dominus.’ ‘No, Dominus.’ I’m not in love with Prefect Maecilia. Absolutely not. Don’t even know what that word means.” He paused, meeting Rilienus’ eyes with his, sparkling like quicksilver in the low light. “What were we speaking of again? Perhaps it will come back to me with another kiss or two.”

Rilienus snorted softly, cupping the back of his neck to draw him in. To touch his hair. To feel his skin. To feel the way he bent towards him, pressing close. “I would probably get a pat on the back for keeping you in here with no dinner, but I doubt you’d approve.”

“Could be convinced, if you stayed with me.” Eyes gleaming, longing palpable, full of life and love. “Dinner or no.”

“Could you?” he asked, searching his gaze. “What would you say to your gaggle of followers?” he kissed his cheek, nibbling down to the corner of his jaw. “You don’t seem to be at all cowed by your punishment, or by me.” He kissed down the line of his throat, “Perhaps you do need something a little more… forceful.” 

“Oh? Planning on putting me in my place, then? Do tell.”

“I could deny you all your meals,” he murmured against his skin, letting his palms roam Dorian’s back. “Keep you trapped in your room all day when you’re not in classes.” He squeezed his shoulder, “Do terrible things to you. Terrible, wicked things that leave bruises on your caramel skin, that make you sweat and cry out and possibly even beg for mercy.”

Dorian pushed him away, laughing. “Oh, is that all? Bend me to your will? What if I wanted you to? What would you do then,  _ mon coeur? _ ”

“Thank the Maker and all the lucky stars,” he tucked his hands behind his back by rote, tipping his head to the side. “You  _ could _ find me a little more intimidating. Everyone else does.”

“They’re blind. Blind fools. You’re as soft as freshly fallen snow under that smirk. There’s iron there. But it’s not all you are.”

“I promise you, I’m well on my way away from soft.” 

“Saccharine. You’re saccharine.”

He ran a hand down his robes to smooth the creases. Just concentrate. Just breathe and slip inside, draw up the walls, feel the marble beneath his feet. He shut his eyes and searched for the man he’d pretended to be since he’d realized that who he was was dangerous. “And what do you know of snow?” 

“ _ Où pense-tu que j'ai appris à parler Orlésien _ ?” Dorian tapped the tip of his nose. “Snowflakes in Montsimmard, coating the chantries and bell towers.” 

“Hardly. What possible reason could there be for you to have been at a Southern approximation of a Circle?” he sneered. Tried to sneer. He wanted to catch that fingertip between his teeth.

“Not the Circle. The town. On vacation. Escaping the heat. Mother likes to go south.” He smiled, pressing his lips to where his finger had just touched. “Chantry doesn’t particularly like it, but they’re not going to detain a Magister’s family. Diplomatic immunity.”

“Hn.” Rilienus huffed against his lips. “I don’t know why anyone would want to go anywhere in the south. Nevarra, perhaps, for the libraries, but-” He wrinkled his nose. “It sounds ridiculous. Bear skins and party masks.”

“Ridiculous, certainly.” Dorian ran a hand up his side, idly, contented. “And yet. What would you give to pretend to be someone else for an evening?”

“I’ve  _ been _ pretending to be someone else every day and night for a decade.” He felt the stiffness in his shoulders slowly returning even as he memorized the feel of Dorian’s palm. “Ask me what I would do to not pretend.” 

“Tell me. What would you do?” Brows bunched in concern. Dorian laced their fingers together. “Kiss me again?”

Rilienus sighed, leaning against him, giving himself over to the taste of him, the feel of his lips, the strength in his hand. This. This was something true, out of nowhere. He had this. The gods knew he barely felt like he kept himself a step ahead of the machinations of this place. How was he going to protect this? How was he going to keep it? Keep it safe. Keep them safe. “I’ll get your dinner and take you to mass.” He squeezed his fingers. “We’re going to be alright.” 

“Of course we will,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian’s grin never faded, it seemed. A spring of boundless optimism to match limitless power. “There was never any question.”

He’d said it for himself, to soothe his own trepidation, and because it was true. He didn’t know the same optimism as Dorian. He didn’t  _ expect _ it to be so. But he was determined. They would survive the Order. He was going to make sure of it. One way or another. 

* * *

  
The days passed in a strange kind of dream. He rose to watch the dawn, collected Dorian, and spent the rest of the day in the younger man’s orbit. It wasn’t the first time Rilienus had administered the Eye and it likely wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time he’d ever enjoyed any aspect of it. 

Watching Dorian was a pleasure. Mornings of his long, muscular body streaking through the water. Sweating in the garden. Twisting as they practiced with fighting staves. The way that Dorian glanced at him periodically with bright grins and insolent smirks, or brushed his fingers as they passed each other in the library. Pure, wondrous pleasure. And a challenge. Toeing the line between menace and mentor just enough for those who saw them- and they did see them. It was impossible not to notice Dorian cheerfully wandering around the tower in that awful red capelet. 

But Rilienus turned in his reports each morning to the Praeceptor and not once did he hear a sideways word from the other prefects about any of it. It seemed that Dorian had been right - so far, at least. No one raised a brow at the time they spent trading barbs and butting heads as they moved through the Circle. No one seemed to notice that they disappeared throughout the day, fading into empty rooms and storage sheds to vent the tension that built up between them during those interchanges with something more kinetic. And tonight, when Rilienus had stopped by Dorian’s room ‘unannounced’ after everyone had returned from evening prayers, Dorian’s roommate hadn’t even blinked. The Eye, Rilienus was realizing, was a kind of illusion spell. Excuses weren’t even necessary. So long as it seemed like he was calling the shots, no one questioned. They saw what they expected to see.

He glanced at Dorian out of the corner of his eye as they strode past the students filtering into the dorms for the night. “It would help if I knew where I was going,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Up.”

Rilienus rolled his eyes, striding up the circling stair towards the ramparts. He paused when he felt Dorian’s fingers touch his elbow. “What?”

“Up, I said.”

He spread his hands. “This is ‘up’. This is as ‘up’ as we can possibly get.”

“Is it?” Dorian widened his eyes, grinning, and glanced towards the sloping tower roof behind himself. 

Rilienus felt his mouth go dry. He was going to try another escape? Now? “There are wards to prevent people climbing down from there,” he said, frowning. And jumpers, but he didn’t feel a need to add that. 

“That is excellent information to have, thank you, but I was merely planning to climb  _ onto _ the roof.”

“And what? Fly?”

“Still so little trust.” 

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“I do. To an extent.” Dorian chuckled, patting his satchel, and moving to the wall. “I am going up. You are welcome to join me if you see fit.”

“You’re very strange.” Rilienus crossed his arms, watching the sleeves of Dorian’s robe slide against his arms as he drew himself up the limestone block by block. 

“You’re just now noticing this?”

“Reiterating,” he tilted his head to the side, taking a step closer. 

“I’ll thank you not to look up my robes.”

Rilienus flushed, squinting up at the dark sky peppered with stars. “I was thinking about the constellation Fervenial.”

“You were  _ thinking _ about the constellation of my arse.”

“Your back. It’s similar to your back,” he said quietly. “The shoulders and the hips and the line in between.” He smirked when Dorian glanced down and back at him. 

“Are you coming?”

“Not at this moment.”

“Hopeless.”

Sighing, he looked down at his hands, then up at the wall leading to the roof. He hummed, licking his fingers and palms, and carefully pressed his hands one by one to the stone, letting mana and will hold him where strength might have failed. By the time he made it up to the sloping tiles, Dorian was settling in comfortably. He’d unfolded one of the thin sheets from his bed and laid it out on the slight rise, settling his satchel on one edge behind himself. 

“Now you anchor the other side.”

“As you will,” he murmured, carefully making his way across the terracotta tiles and easing down onto the sheet. It smoothed the texture of the tiles moderately. He set his satchel down and leaned back on his elbows, watching the stars brighten as the last reds and purples faded to black. 

“And.”

He glanced back down to find Dorian brandishing a dusty, long-necked bottle. “What-” he frowned, peering at the inscription on the glass. “This isn’t from the Chantry.”

“No, my dear friend, it is not.”

“Where did you get this?” He turned the bottle over in his hands. “Nevermind. It’s probably best I don’t know.” 

“Yes, I agree. Can’t have you learning all of my secrets. You’ll start to think me trite.” Dorian chuckled, brandishing a corkscrew, brushing away the collected dust, and unstoppering the bottle. He passed it to Rilienus, his smile sweeter than the smell of the alcohol. “Next time I can try to accommodate your tastes, but this is one of my favorites. The grapes from this vineyard are unique, nothing like them in the world, from my experience. Full bodied, rich, plum and mocha and leather. The Veil is thin where they’re cultivated; you can still taste it on your tongue. Tell me what you feel when you drink it?”

Rilienus tipped the bottle to his nose and sniffed. Rich, full, tannic. “Needs a decanter.” He tilted the bottle back and sipped, letting the wine soak his tongue; it did have the rich feel of plum, a scent of leather, a hint of pepper- He took another small sip and returned the bottle, brushing Dorian’s fingers as he did. “I  _ feel _ that it would benefit from a decanter,” he repeated, smirking. “It needs room to breathe, like you.”

“Give it a moment.”

“It’s very nice; thank you.” He sighed, settling back on his elbows. “I traded for a bottle of Sun Rose a couple years ago. The darker, like this, are more to my taste. When I was young, my father would let me sip from his glass at meals. I don’t know what any of those wines were, but I remember there was always a bitterness to them.” Back when he’d thought he’d known what bitter was- a flavor, not a feeling. Rilienus looked back to the sky. “Brocade for the taste buds.”

Rilienus turned to Dorian, who was quiet, looking at him as though he expected something further, head tilted and waiting. The bottle was still in Dorian’s hand; the rich liquid hadn’t yet touched his lips. 

“Is there something I should be--” 

Bees buzzing in the summer sun, hummingbirds flitting from vine to vine, drinking deep from tiny green blossoms. Breezes, thick with seasalt, billowing through thousands upon thousands of leaves. A castle off in the distance, limestone towers and turrets, a child’s sandcastle brought to life, adorned with seashells and sea creatures carved into ancient stones. 

A slender slip of a boy, no more than eight, running, his sandals kicking up dirt as he passed between the greenery, the air perfumed by the acid and sugar of the growing fruit. Running, day after day, collapsing, hiding himself among miles and miles of staked vines.

Frustration and disappointment, stinging his molten silver eyes and running down his face in the form of fat, lazy tears. The earth soaked them up, the salt returning to the ground, another cycle completed. 

_ Why can’t I control it?  _ The boy asked silently. Buds and blossoms and fruit that heard his thoughts, digested them, devoured them as they might sunlight and soil and water.  _ What if I never can?  _

Loneliness, the crushing weight of responsibility, of expectation. The lack of affection, of praise, of comfort. Sinking to the ground, day after day, as reliable as the setting of the sun. 

Rain, pouring, dousing him, making him shiver, despite the warmth of the wind. 

And then, in the darkness, a feeling of serenity, a calmness, limbs filled with light as they lifted off of the ground. A spark of the power he’d felt in Dorian’s room, being claimed and reigned, lassoed like a stallion, bent to his will.

The grapes grew unperturbed, eventually harvested by magic, crushed, fermented, aged, and bottled. The boy didn’t return. Didn’t need to. He’d found a way to master himself and the maelstrom in his veins. 

Rilienus peered at the man beside him. Curious. Steel and silver blending in his eyes. “A good year,” he commented mildly. 

“I’m glad you thought so,” Dorian said, leaning back and peering up at the stars, his face impassive. “Not a position that was widely accepted, I’m afraid. The rest of the bottles were destroyed. The grapes were too sour, it seemed.”

“Hardly sour.” He brushed the backs of their hands together lightly. “You found your center. That’s- for the little taste I had of your particular brand of brilliance, that is an impressive feat.” He leaned over to press a kiss to Dorian’s cheek. “You should try channeling mine. See what the rest of us are like.” He tucked his forefinger around Dorian’s. “Know your enemy.”

Dorian turned towards him sharply, eyes wide. “Don’t be my enemy, Ril. I couldn’t abide it.” 

“That isn’t what I meant. Only- There is something…  _ more _ \- a broader range and higher frequency - inside of you.” Rilienus lifted his brows, “It might help you gain some perspective, understanding that- We’re all riding horses, while you’re flying a dragon.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps we should try it one day. I’ve always felt a little… off.” He squeezed his hand, running a thumb along Rilienus’. “That fragment of a memory was of the summer before I tested into the Carastes Circle. Their youngest pupil in two hundred years. I thought it would make a difference, mean something, but all it ever caused was trouble.”

“I imagine you’ve dealt with the envy of idiots most of your life.” ‘Off’? He was life itself.  _ ‘Off _ .’ “Everyone is always grasping for more power. I don’t think most of them would know what to do with yours. I didn’t.” That wasn’t entirely true. He’d known exactly what he wanted to do with it; thrilling and wonderful and terrible. Sobriety, self-reflection, and the memory of the look in Dorian’s eyes had made clear that his impulses with power weren’t to be trusted. He’d wanted to do it again ever since. And the idea that Dorian might feel his own power, however limited by comparison, sent a low thrum of heat through Rilienus’ core. To share that part of himself. To reveal it. He glanced down at their joined hands, “Carastes has an excellent reputation. My mother matriculated there. She said there was an elvhen mirror pool where you could see through time; halla and trees the size of towers. Did you see that while you were there?”

Dorian finally pressed the bottle to his lips, his eyes brightening, stars in the sky. “I did! Wonder of wonders. The halla would sometimes dip their heads into that crystalline water, lapping it up, mesmerizingly beautiful with every movement. Transfixing. We were allowed to wander into town every Sunday the weather was fair, if we wanted, through the markets. Sweet shops and fishmongers and spice merchants, silk and leather and satin. The Circle would sell some of the things we made, once they were tested. Little things, wards and alarms and healing potions. Toys for children. Lamps that burned with magelight, changing color with a touch of your hand. I was working on designing a timepiece.”

“What happened?” Rilienus pressed his lips together. “Is it alright to ask?”

“Yes. I don’t mind speaking of it, as long as it’s to you.” Dorian sighed, sliding closer, handing the bottle back and settling his head in Rilienus’ lap. “There was an incident when I was nine. I sent an older boy to the infirmary, burns covering over half of his body. He’d called me names I didn’t like, when nobody could hear, so I challenged him in front of an entire courtyard. I wanted to be left alone. To teach him a lesson. Get him to back off. I thought his shield would be stronger than it was.”

Rilienus hissed in sympathy, brushing his fingers through Dorian’s hair. To be so young, so empowered- both with mana and spirit… and to be turned out. An accident, an error, understandable given the scope of his power. Where had his mentors been? His teachers? Carastes has been made to sound like a haven in his mother’s stories. A refuge. A place where everything was given purpose, even the dangerous. Unless… “They couldn't heal him?”

“No, he recovered.” Dorian shook his head and Rilienus could almost feel his body tremble. “I was thrown into solitary confinement, for weeks, until Father sent someone to collect me and drag me back home. I don’t do well in solitary, as you might imagine. I was so irate that I was the only one punished, that I refused to say anything to the Praetor or any of the professors to contradict my injured opponent. They took my actions as wanton cruelty. I was expelled, for endangering others.”

He touched his fingertips to Dorian’s temple, peering down at him. “You were nine.  _ They _ were endangering  _ you _ . And the other students.” He frowned, “That was their responsibility, not yours.”

“Try telling that to my father. Or the other seven Circles I’ve been expelled from.” Dorian closed his eyes, his mind lost somewhere in the past. “I told you, Heritia was far from my first. The first time was an accident. The rest were decidedly not. I had a reputation after Carastes. It made me a target. And I was always younger and smaller than the others. I wanted to go home, to get lost in the orchards, ride out to the sea, study the wonders of the arcane on my own. I found out a recipe that worked. Put some prick in his place, get sent home. It  _ always _ worked.”

“Sorry to disappoint. You should have asked around. The Order has never expelled anyone.” He twisted his finger through the curl at Dorian’s brow. “Repurposed a few, certainly, but never expelled. Magic is meant to serve, after all.”

“And who was I to have asked? Four days and not so much as a ‘good morning’ or ‘could you pass me that staff’ or ‘did you finish that essay on Archon Hessarian’s hairy ballsack’. I’ve never had much in the way of friends, believe it or not. No point. As soon as I made them, I’d be shuffled around again.”

“You’ve certainly got an infestation of them now,” he hummed, fighting the smirk that Dorian always seemed to drag from him. “ _ Did _ you finish that essay? I must have missed that week in lecture.”

“You’re an ass,” Dorian said, chuckling again, looking up with brows quirked. “And I love you. I wish I’d met you years ago. Maybe it would’ve made things just a bit easier if I had someone who understood me.”

“Or worse. Depends how far back you go. There was a time I was still hunting shadows and fighting my sentence; I wasn’t nearly as useful then.” Rilienus traced the line of Dorian’s nose from the aquiline tip to the curve of his brow. “I suppose, in some ways, it’s a good thing I adapted before you arrived.” 

Creases formed on Dorian’s forehead, brows knotting with concern. “Or perhaps we would’ve fought together and both drawn the Praeceptor’s ire. Perhaps you wouldn’t still be here.”

“Highly unlikely.” 

“Will you—“ Hesitation. Worry. Sympathy. “Could you tell me what happened? When you’re ready. It need not be tonight.”

“What happened?” he asked. “What do you mean?” 

“Your… sentence.” Dorian sat up, meeting his eyes, taking his hand. “Why you fought it and… why you stopped.”

“Ah.” He glanced down at the bottle. “I suppose you-” He frowned, thumbing the glass and took a swig, letting the wine wash his mouth clear of the bitter taste of memory. “That’s a long story. The whole of it is.” He rested the bottle against Dorian’s side, studying the line of his body and the curves of his fingers. “The short version, I think, is- for a time, I thought justice existed. And I was taught otherwise.” He tongued his teeth, sighing. “What do you want to know?”

“Why, pray tell, did someone who can breathe such beauty into the world—“ Dorian ran his hand underneath Rilienus’ sleeve, across his silken grimoire, “—end up in a place as stifling as this one?”

“Well, I was in someone’s way. Isn’t that why we’re all here, in one way or another?” Rilienus tilted his head to watch the cloth of the robe shift over that hand. “It’s simple,” he breathed. His chest felt tight. He thought about the lies that had been told again and again, that had somehow spread around him despite his best efforts to hold them at bay. He thought about the years he’d spent raging and fighting anyone who said he was the one who’d- who’d- He took a breath. “My father held our family seat,” he began slowly, the truth slow to his tongue. “His brother decided he’d held that honor for long enough.” He frowned, letting his eyes fall shut under the slow flex of Dorian’s fingers against his skin. “To kill my father wasn’t enough. Mother would have held the seat in regency until I came of age. He needed us all gone. He wasn’t there. There was no proof. We were at dinner. I’d spent the day learning how to turn leaves into ice. Ice into leaves. Over and over again. Whole frozen vines. They were good.” He tightened his jaw against the swelling loss. Years since he’d allowed himself to think about them, really think, really feel his grief. He’d held so tightly to his anger, just to keep the weakness at bay- “My parents were… They were… kind and gifted. They wanted me at Carastes or Tillum and nothing else would do, so they’d been training me at home until I could get in.” He cleared his throat. Not the point. Get to the point. “We were at dinner. Then there were demons. Then they were dead. And I wasn’t. Fairly straightforward as a case. So. I suppose I’m lucky that my uncle was averse to outright murdering children.”

Dorian sat silently for a long while, holding his hand, his grip tightening with every word. “Maker.  _ Maker _ . And you’ve been here all this time… How long? How long have you paid the price for a crime you didn’t commit?” 

“Eleven years?” Rilienus scrubbed his fingers through the scruff of his beard. “In a month. Eleven years. Time is relative.” He swallowed, eyeing the lip of the bottle. “Three more. Just three. Then I see if I’ve played my part well enough to stay alive.”

“Alive?” Dorian’s cheeks blanched and he reached to take Rilienus’ other hand too. “What do you mean, enough to stay  _ alive _ ?”

“It’s fine.” He smoothed his thumb over Dorian’s, gently squeezing his hand. “Years to go still. A tiny eternity.”

“Fine, you say?  _ Fine? _ ” Storm clouds in Dorian’s eyes, gathering electricity, power held just at bay. “‘Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter.’ What do you intend to do when you’re free? I would not blame you for acting with swift and decisive aggression.”

“If it’s obvious what you’ve done, you’ve done it wrong.” Rilienus tilted his head, lifting Dorian’s hands to kiss his knuckles one by one. Dorian’s anger was soothing. To see it banked and straining, external, not crushed and held tight in the pit of his stomach- “If I’ve laid the path right, and played the tune accordingly, I’ll take my father’s seat within a year of my release. If not,” he shrugged. “Then I won’t have played well enough.” He kissed Dorian’s thumb, nibbling at the tiniest of callouses. “I love you. I love you so very much.”

Dorian turned his hand, placing a finger under Rilienus’ chin and tilted it up, as gently as the first time, what felt like a lifetime ago. Their lips met, warm and wet and wine-soaked. He wrapped his arms around Rilienus’ shoulders, holding him tightly, as though he meant to crush their bodies into one being, breathing against him, with him. “Don’t you dare get yourself killed. Just  _ don’t _ . Or I’ll have to bring you back from the dead just to kill you again for leaving too soon.”

“Ah, there’s an idea,” he chuckled against his lips. “Pre-emptive, outside of the box thinking. Very clever. I could probably stab him in the Magisterium if I were undead. Think of the gossip.”

“As much as I love gossip, I’m a necromancer, not a necrophiliac,” Dorian laughed, rolling his eyes. “Let’s not have this as our primary plan.”

“What a pity. Much simpler, that.” He took Dorian’s lower lip gently between his teeth. “Perhaps I could convince you. I’m sure I’d be quite lively.”

“You could convince me now,  _ mon rossingol _ ,” Dorian said with an arch look, running a hand along Rilienus’ forearm. “Why wait for when you’re cold and rotting?” He shuddered, shaking his head, laughing. “No more talking about defiling your corpse, if you  _ please _ .”

“But you’re so very good at defiling me.” Rilienus leaned back, drawing Dorian down over him. “Very talented.” He whistled quietly, summoning a sheen of ice over his fingertips. “I could be very, very cold.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, leaning in to press kisses along Rilienus’ neck. “ _ Vishante kaffas _ , as long as you’re still  _ breathing _ .”

“You take my breath away. You steal it from me,” he trailed his chilled fingertips up Dorian’s neck into his hair. “Again and again. Who needs breathing.”

Dorian shivered against him, nestling closer despite the chill, nuzzling into Rilienus’ searching hands. “You’re going to get us in trouble with that mouth of yours. The entire castle will hear us if you keep this up.”

“You know where the ward is,” Rilienus kissed the side of his head, the shell of his ear. Alive. For now. For this moment, he could be entirely alive, with this man, in the starlight. “I want you. I want your-” he sighed as Dorian’s lips mapped his skin. “Ah, your lips. The way you touch me.” He let his eyes fall shut. “The way you want me. Do you feel that? Do you know how much I want you?”

Dorian chuckled against him, wine and whiskey and sweat from the summer sun, freezing into tiny crystals against warm caramel, melting and refreezing again. “I have an inkling,  _ amatus _ , but some things are better demonstrated than said.”

“And you do. You do.” He licked the curve of his ear, tasting the shivers beneath his skin. “Too cold?”

“Not hardly,” Dorian purred, twitching. “Welcome. Wonderful. Being with you makes my pulse race. It’s nice to have something to distract me from the thrumming of my heart.”

“Less breathing. Less heart-racing.” He traced the back of Dorian’s ear with his finger, sending a spread of ice crystals into his hair. “You’re beautiful. I could encase you in ice and watch you melt your way free. Like a statue resolving itself out of stone.” He nipped at Dorian’s earlobe lightly. “My living art.”

“Again with the flattery? What  _ am  _ I to do with you?” Dorian tilted, returning the kiss, breathing against Rilienus’ lips. He felt the pull of the Fade as Dorian cast and suddenly his mouth was  _ fire _ , startling and disorienting. Dorian’s entire body grew as hot as the sun, scorching and scalding, warming him to his core, radiating through him to the shingles below. “Cast me in ice, you say? You can certainly try.”

Rilienus gasped, his head falling back to the tiles as he fumbled at his wrist to unbind his ward. “Maker’s tears, are you holding that inside of your skin?” he breathed, whistling the starlit web into being around and over them under the sidereal expanse. 

“Where else could it be but inside of me?” Dorian laughed and the glow from underneath his skin began to dissipate. “Are you hurt?”

“Hurt?” he laughed, flexing his hands back into the folds of Dorian’s robes, dragging him closer. “I’m thinking of ways to try to encase fire. It’s a project. Hurt,” he scoffed. “You’re delectable.” He kissed him, twitching the clasps of his robe open to touch his chest. “Tell me when,” he met Dorian’s gaze and began to hum low, tracing glyphs upon his skin without seeing them, feeling the cold gather and build into frost. 

“Mmm,” Dorian sighed, his teeth beginning to chatter. “Haven’t felt this sort of chill since that winter in Orlais. Wine and dancing and reading by the fire… Though, I must admit, I’m not particularly suited to the cold. Not unless there’s someone nearby to warm me up.”

“I would enjoy watching you read by a fire. Especially,” he hummed, tracing another glyph. “When you disagree with something. Your brow furrows and you look as though you’re about to start arguing with the book.” He nipped at his lip. “It’s intoxicating,” he whispered, nudging Dorian’s nose with his own. “And all cast in heat and shadow? Even better.”

“What about watching me underneath the open sky, illuminated only by the light of the stars and a faraway city?” Dorian asked, a finger trailing down the depression on his chest. “Does that also suit?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “And under the Maker’s rising sun in the blessed dawn. And in the shadows of the glowpetal trees. And slicing through the water like a shark. And in the shadows behind the Chantry and the candlelight of the library and, very likely, in the dreadful horrifying southern snow.”

“Do you know when I think you’re the most beautiful?” Dorian twirled one of Rilienus’ dark curls around his finger. “Those dangerous moments, when your mask slips down. When you laugh for no reason. When you stare down that brute Heritia. When you meet my eyes and for a second forget where we are. And then, of course, there’s times like these, when it comes off completely, and  _ Maker _ , you’re radiant.”

“I thought you liked masks.” Rilienus smirked up at him, drawing a third glyph and watching the frost creep up Dorian’s neck. He could feel the chill against his own chest, his stomach. “What would yours be, I wonder, if you tried your hand?”

“You misunderstand. The allure of masks is the knowledge that they can be removed, the thrill of convincing someone to take theirs off for you.” Dorian nuzzled closer, trying to sap up Rilienus’ heat. “Who would I be though? Someone not drawn towards a particular future like a fish on a line.”

“We’re all drawn somewhere. Perhaps the reason you balk at the one you’ve been prescribed is that there’s another you’re destined for.” He kissed his chin. Cold against his lips like ice. Caramel incased, spiced. He mouthed at the frost, tasting him, “More?”

“N-no,” Dorian whispered against his cheek, his body quavering. “Enough ice. I want you. Warm me up again,  _ amatus _ . Remind my blood how to flow through my veins.”

He grinned, letting go of the mana and the rolling tune in his head to spread his hands out over Dorian’s skin under his robe, stroking the sculpted icy expanse of his sides and back. “Climbing rocks. Letting yourself melt by touch.” He caught Dorian’s lips, kissing him until he found the heat at the back of his tongue and could breathe in his exhales, hot from the forge of his lungs. “I want to keep you with me. I want to keep you cold, here, until the sun rises and you melt over me.” 

“I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up tangled around you,” Dorian murmured against his lips, his breath freezing the sweat on Rilienus’ upper lip. 

“Yes-” he moaned, rocking his hips up against Dorian’s. “Yes- I want  _ time- _ Dorian,” he breathed him in, his own magic making them both shiver. “I want time to be with you- to be- not-” he sighed. “Not that I don’t very much enjoy the rushing,” he nipped at the corner of Dorian’s lips. “But melting time- I wish for it.”

“I know. I do, too.” Dorian sighed, leaning against his chest, burying his head. “But it’ll always be rushing, love. Even outside of these walls. Even if you’re free and your uncle is dead and my father finally decides to leave me be. It’s the unfortunate reality for deviants like us. We don’t get to fall in love.”

“We did, though,” Rilienus traced the line of his spine, gathering melting frost on his fingertips. “We have. Haven’t we?”

Dorian leaned up on his elbows, his eyes spun starlight, the corners of his lips drawn up ever so slightly. “Somehow.  _ Somehow _ . I don’t understand why we’d be made to feel this way if it wasn’t  _ right _ . How can love be a weakness?”

“ _ Connections _ are weaknesses. Joints break.” He peered up at Dorian, backlit by endless dark and the breathless adornment of stars. “I don’t think that love is like that. It’s… a forge. It can make us stronger or weaker. It depends. On us, I think.” He lifted a brow as he ran his thumbs down Dorian’s sides. “No?”

“And what do I make you, Rilienus?”

“Whole.”

Dorian claimed his lips, sighing against him, his fingers tangling in Rilienus’ robes, clasps falling away one by one. Hands running across the flesh he’d revealed, ice under the starlight, melting against his skin. 

“The wine has another property I neglected to mention,” Dorian chuckled against his chin, his mouth drawing the line of Rilienus’ jaw. “Heightened empathy. There’s a legend that one of my ancestors was spared by her enemy on that land. The dagger was drawn and she lay prone on the ground, ready to accept her fate, but a wayward spirit intervened. A centuries-old feud put to rest in a moment of compassion and the effects seeped into the earth. I should’ve warned you. But… I do so love when you’re almost cloying.”

“Cloying, is it?” Rilienus laughed outright. “My, my, how quickly the perfume is worn from the rose.”

“Pfft.” Dorian snorted, rolling his eyes. “ _ Almost _ cloying. Just on the edge of cloying. In danger of becoming cloying. I’ve always had quite the sweet-tooth, though.”

“As have I,” Rilienus searched his face. Angles and curls. He skimmed his fingers up, tracing the ladder of Dorian’s ribs on his way to spread his palm open on his chest. “Still, we can’t have you finding me medicinal.” Smiling slowly, he tilted his chin up giving Dorian access to his neck, brushed his fingers out and closed them over Dorian’s taut, chilled nipple. “Less sweet, then. More spice.” 

Dorian yelped at the touch, his mustache curling with the corners of his lips. “Oh, are you finally going to teach me how to behave, then? To be an upstanding member of the Order and citizen of the Imperium? I’d relish your tutelage. Though I’ve been told I’m a bit hard-headed.”

He snickered, grinning, and rolled Dorian to his back. “Are you. Should I check?”

“Oh, most definitely. A thorough search is required.”

“Heightened empathy,” Rilienus murmured, kissing all that chilled flesh. He was stunning, brazen, bright- “Which part is yours then? The lust? The love?” He nipped at Dorian’s abdomen, lapping at the flexed muscles of his core. “The humor. That must be yours.”

“All three,” he laughed. “And the impatience.”

Rilienus huffed against his belly; he rubbed the rough of his chin against Dorian, raking his teeth down until he caught the band of his silk trousers in his teeth and pulled. “I’ll give you impatience.” He exhaled hot against him, pushing the fabric down past his knees, and- Oh, he was beautiful and hard and waiting for him- “Ah, I see.” He kissed the base of Dorian’s shaft, nuzzling into the coarse hairs to breathe him in. “Very impatient.”

Dorian moaned against his touches, a wordless pleading. He wrapped his legs around Rilienus’ shoulders, drawing him closer, closer to where he wanted him. “You bring that trait out in me. Now, if you wouldn’t mind...”

“Yes, Dominus,” Rilienus murmured softly. He trailed his lips gently up the line of Dorian’s cock, exhaling over the swollen head, then began kissing his way back down again. He grinned, lapping at his sack, and pressed his hands up under Dorian’s lower back. “You wanted something?”

“More, Ril,” he breathed, his voice humming with desire. “Please.”

“More, more, more,” he murmured. Giddy. Giddy, restless, wanting- oh, wanting him with a fury. “You’re a glutton, Dominus.” He flexed his hands under Dorian’s back, stroking one hand to curve the tight globe of his ass. “But so am I.” No bells, he thought, grinning, as he kissed his way farther from Dorian’s thick, full phallus, lifting him higher. No limit to them. No walls, no ceiling. Just them and the sky and the night and the stars. Dorian tasted of cardamom and honey, sweat and salt, and here - where the chill of the glyphs hadn’t reached - he was  _ hot _ . Hot as Andraste’s final tears. Aching and beautiful. Rilienus squeezed Dorian’s ass again, pulling his cheek wide, and flicked his tongue against the secret entrance hidden in his cleft. Time. They had time, now. They had time and Dorian was beautiful and the stars were bright and he tasted so very, very good. He moaned, lapping and kissing at the tight, puckered flesh. “More?”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,” Dorian hissed, a smile still playing the corners of his lips. “Do you mean to torture me? Yes. Yes. For the love of all that’s good and holy,  _ yes _ .”

Rilienus smirked, sinking back between his thighs to taste and kiss. “It is good.” He hummed softly, shifting Dorian’s weight between his arms and shoulders, freeing a hand so that he could touch where he tasted. “And holy. You are. The whole of you. You’re gold. You’re golden, even in starlight. Gold and caramel.” He brushed his fingertips over Dorian’s skin, lifting his head to peer down the lithe line of his body. The robe was a frame to his flesh, peeled wide, revealing his flesh all decadent as the glyphs he’d drawn faded from view. “I’d like to feel you- if you’re amenable?”

“Amenable?” Dorian snorted, sliding a sandaled foot along Rilienus’ rib cage, still draped in his robe. “Of course I’m amenable. Starving, would be a more accurate word. Anything you want. Everything. There are few carnal pleasures I don’t enjoy.”

The sound of his laugh, the way his moustache twitched as he smiled, the soft fullness of his lower lip that was so infinitely kissable- Rilienus whistled quietly, calling his mana, watching Dorian’s expression as he eased his slick-coated fingertip just inside of him. “I would like to remain firmly in the categories that you enjoy,” he kissed the inside of Dorian’s thigh. “I would like to make you feel very good.” His skin was velvet against Rilienus’ lips, soft and warm. “Nuggets of joy, no?”

Dorian’s eyes were tightly shut, his hips twitching, trying to draw Rilienus closer. “ _ Fasta vass _ , words, so many Blighted, thrice-damned words. What do you want me to say? That I want you to fuck me?” His voice was a low drone, buzzing through his chest. “Do you need me to beg? To prostrate myself? Heap my body upon the blessed font of your mercy? You’re so cruel to make me say it aloud.”

“That you want me,” he groaned, burying his lips amongst the coarse hairs of his groin to breathe him in. Taste him. He had to taste him. His words were midday sun, spreading out over Rilienus’ skin. “Yes.” He licked up the tense line of his shaft, pressing his finger in deeper- Tight- He was so tight around him, under him, against him- Was there anything more holy, anything closer to worship than worshipping the Maker’s creations, and Dorian was- He sighed, taking him into his mouth as he pulsed the tip of his finger inside of him. Yes. This. The way Dorian breathed, the throb of him under Rilienus’ tongue, the blissful spread of his thighs- He was opening for him like a night-blooming flower and there was a power in that, just that, that drew a moan from Rilienus’ throat. Dorian may have housed a tempest of Fadestorm, but he was pliant and aching just as Rilienus was. The same. They were the same, in this, in this yearning and touch and want-

He added a second digit when he was able, sighing over Dorian’s skin- He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t get enough, taste enough, feel enough. All of him. He wanted all of him at once, every inch of him against his skin. He breathed deep and swallowed him whole. 

Wriggling and writhing, moaning and mumbling, Dorian unraveled like thread on a spool. His knuckles turning white from clenched fists, a rosy flush on his cheeks and between his legs, crystals of ice melting and reforming and melting again, sparkling tendrils fanning across his skin like lace.

“Those fingers of yours,” Dorian gasped, his eyes slitted, open again to draw him in for a moment, before clamping shut as Rilienus’ fingers curled inside of him. “Artistry. Blighted artistry. You’re—of course I want you. H-how couldn’t I?”

‘Of course,’ he said, music and brilliance. Rilienus huffed softly, smiling around him, and added a third finger as he felt the pressure release around the first two. ‘How,’ he asked, as if being wanted were to be expected. Perhaps, for Dorian, it was. He stretched his middle finger forward and combed the tight channel, feeling Dorian’s breaths and heat and- Here, with him, like this, Rilienus wondered how he’d borne all the years alone, the half-touches and frenzies. He hadn’t known. That was it. He hadn’t known that all this pliant muscle and pleasant gasping was possible. He hadn’t known that Dorian was somewhere in the world, making his choices and mistakes and brave chess moves to bring him closer, closer, closer- He groaned, lifted his head to let Dorian slip from his lips. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “I thank the Maker you do. Are you- you feel- Are you ready?”

“ _ Yes _ .” Desperation in his voice. Need. Blinding, thunderous need. The kind of desire that could smash mountains into rubble, torch entire continents, bring the sea to a boil. Need directed at  _ him _ , aching for  _ him _ . Dorian has seen him and been with him and still wanted him. With a fury, unlike anything he’d ever witnessed before. “Every moment I wait, a little more of me slips away.”

Control. To make Dorian lose that practiced, measured, subtle restraint. Delicious and dangerous. Terrifying. Sumptuous. Was there any goal more worthy than that?

“We can’t have that.” He carefully withdrew his fingers, kissing the inside of Dorian’s thigh as he eased his hips down. “I need all of you.” He rubbed his cheek to Dorian’s knee, fumbling at the ties to his pants, freeing himself to press against him- Yes- He pressed his lips together, guiding his cock against that hidden entrance and- “I love you. I love-“ his eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he pressed into him- “-you. Ah, Dorian-” This- This was- Hot velvet, the tight grip of his channel and- He grinned, stroking his hands over Dorian’s hips. Little wonder he’d been nudged against so many walls and desks in the last few days- He exhaled sharply. “ _ Kaffas _ , you miracle-“

“Ah! Maker,  _ amatus-- _ ” Dorian purred, fingernails digging into the small of his back. “Ril,  _ please _ \--” He was gasping, breaths ragged and voice strangled. His eyes were crazed, wide, staring into his soul. “Please, harder, Maker, Rilienus, take me  _ harder _ .” A laugh, shrill and otherworldly. “Make me yours. Make me-- Ah!”

Harder? He could barely breathe. He could barely think. He rolled his hips gingerly, holding onto Dorian. The effort of holding him, of holding himself steady, when he wanted to bury himself in one smooth stroke- Tremors down his spine and through his thighs. Sweat. Heat. Maker’s tears. He groaned against Dorian’s knee, kissing and nuzzling his skin as he sank and sank, then dragged himself back and sank again. But there was a war inside of him. Impatience and desire dragging at him like twin hands, like Dorian’s hands at his back, even as he fought to take care, take time, take- take- take him- he had to take him- He shook his head hard, blinking to clear his eyes and his mind as he found himself fully sheathed inside of him. Yes- He ground into him on another groan, leaning forward with Dorian’s knees tight on his shoulders, and- “Mine-“ he repeated, panting, catching his lips with his own and rolled his hips again. Again. “Be mine, be-“ He tasted his tongue, his lips, and did as he’d been asked. Thrusting into him hard. Harder still. Stars above them. Stars bursting in his eyes. White hot heat. Fire and ice. “You feel- Ah- You are- Dorian-“

More of that laughter, setting his soul aflame. Dorian’s eyelids were heavy and drooping, arms tugging him closer. “Eloquent--” Dorian’s smirk, that damned smile that never faded. “You’ve got a way with words.”

Rilienus breathed his laughter in. Ate his smile. Gripped his hip and stroked his hand up the tension of his thigh. Lost himself. There was an answer. A rejoinder. Somewhere. It toppled off the edge of the roof and fell into the darkness below as he attempted to vigorously merge them into one being. “Dorian-“ Claw his way inside of Dorian’s strength and passion and hunger and bravery, dive into the roiling sea in his core and learn to breathe him rather than air. “Dorian-“ He kissed the line of his jaw, burying his face against his neck. Words- What were words? What was mana, compared to this? Similar- Close but not close enough for heat or sweat or the scent of him surrounding him, collecting in his lungs, pumping his blood through his veins. He dragged his fingers from Dorian’s hip to wrap around his length, holding him tight between them, trying to show him how he felt, caught inside of him. 

“Oh, oh, ah,  _ Ril _ ,” Dorian devoured his lips, groaning against him, rocking his hips, trying to drive Rilienus deeper inside of him. “Maker, you’re such a wonder. I love you--” He wrapped his legs around his back, clutching him, holding on tightly like Rilienus was the only tether to the mortal plane. “I love you so much.”

Perhaps he was. Maker knew it felt like Dorian might be the only thing left keeping him from pouring upwards into the sky to burn as a distant mote above someone else’s life. He was so much- So much- so much possibility and wonder and experience and being- simply being- being able to breathe and live in fits and starts through sun and dark- Being able to think for moments, see clearly, share- Andraste’s tears, share what he was, who he was- being able to see it, feel it, for the first time in he didn’t know how long- reflected in Dorian’s eyes, touched by his hands- To be. To be and be alive and be seen and be real. It was like waking up and dreaming all at once. Like walking the Fade. Like touching the patterns of things and seeing all their infinite permutations- And Dorian was everywhere throughout. Around him, surrounding him, under his tongue, smiling that unfathomable, unbreakable smile- Loving him. 

His breath caught in his throat as he surged up to kiss him, to taste him- even with the night as a cloak and the hours until dawn, there wasn’t enough time, not enough, not for this- 

“I can’t--” Dorian cried, his body as taught as a drawn bowstring. “Rilienus--”

But he could. Dorian could do anything. He was infinite inside of his skin. He was the night and the tiles and the stones and the wine and the earth from which they’d all emerged. Rilienus lifted his head to watch him as his lips parted again on his name, on wordless release- as his eyes melted into quicksilver and caught the starlight- as his body arched and he came between them like plucked honeysuckle. And Rilienus followed, as he had been, hopeless, helpless to do anything but follow him wherever he went, whatever he did- 

He poured himself into him with a long shudder, sighing, and let the lights behind his eyes finally blind him. 


	10. with beaded bubbles winking at the brim

##  Dorian

Floating, floating, Dorian was floating on a sea of champagne, bubbles popping all around him, cool and refreshing and delicious. It was an age before he felt the cramping in his legs, the soreness from the shingles scraping his back, the pressure of his lover’s softening length still buried inside of him. 

Had he ever shared so much of himself with another? Had he ever felt so treasured? So  _ seen _ ? 

Dorian slowly unwrapped his legs, stretching them, letting them fall back to the rooftop, his breath still heavy and uncontrolled. 

Dorian began to feel the warm press of Rlienus’ body again and he helped him to his side, rolling over to face him, stroking his sweat-streaked cheek with a slender finger, smiling as though he’d just sipped nectar from the Maker’s garden.

“Spice, was it?” Dorian purred, the heat of his voice dying down into embers. “You’re going to make all other dishes taste horribly bland,  _ mon amour _ . It’s going to be hard to stomach anything else. How are you feeling?”

Rilienus peered at him, heavy-lidded, “Here I am trying to breathe and you’re already thinking of your next meal. Glutton.”

“Yes. I am.” Dorian chuckled, tracing those sharp, perfect cheekbones. “For you, I’m insatiable. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Was there a need to ask it?” he smiled lazily, a twitch of lips, a slow blink. “Are there words that could be appropriately accurate?”

“That good, hmm?” Dorian leaned in to press a kiss to one eye, then the other. “You seemed a bit surprised I wanted you like that. Were you?”

“Moderately.” Rilienus stretched one leg, toes flexing. “But then I’m learning to be unsurprised by you.” 

“Oh? A shame. I’ll need to spend some time being horribly dull to keep you on your toes, dancing for me.” 

“I doubt you’re capable of being dull, even for a moment.”

Dorian’s eyes were nearly closed as he nestled closer, wrapping an arm around Rilienus’ waist. “You know, I’ve had sex with a great many men, but I’m starting to wonder if I’d ever once made love before I met you. I thought I had. But I fear I had no idea what those words meant.”

“I hadn’t,” he murmured. “Not once. Of that, I’m certain.” Rilienus lifted a brow. “A great many, is it?”

“Well. Enough.”

Hushed whispers in candlelight. Locked offices. Robes only parted, rarely removed. Nodding, shuffling, back to the real world. Never lingering. Why linger? Why—

“Enough, and evidently, not at all. It’s different, being loved. Tangible. Gossamer threads of light. I love you, so very much. Impossibly so. I feel full of it like it’ll pour from my skin. I’m surprised nobody can see it; I feel like I’m glowing.”

“You are.” Rilienus brushed his fingers over the curve of his jaw. “You are quicksilver and dawn. But you’ve always done that. Shining like a lamp.” He rolled his eyes, a smirk flexing his lips, “Ah, but I’ll rot your teeth. I suppose I should be less true, shall I? For fear of syrup.” 

“No, no, indulge me.” Dorian grinned, nuzzling his cheek. “I want to bathe naked in molten sugar.”

“That can be arranged, literally and figuratively. You-” he chuckled, drawing him closer, “-are an insatiable, phenomenal, delectable siren.” He punctuated the words with soft kisses upon his face. “Beautiful, so beautiful. And it’s nothing to do with me. You have a light within you. From the moment I met you, all brazen after the Praeceptor, I could see it. The Maker knows I didn’t want to, but it was there all the same. You were. You are.” He settled back cozily against his side, sighing warmly. “ _ Je t’adore, mon aube _ .” 

Dorian felt his heart stop, catching in his chest. Words. What words could he say to encapsulate-- He nuzzled closer, wanting to swim, to float in the warmth of his embrace. Stars sparkling over their heads. The endless pools of green in his eyes, the patch of red like a shadow in his gaze. That glorious, cheeky smirk. “ _ Ton sourire pourrait mettre le monde à genoux, mon rossignol _ . I love you, too. Do you think we could get away with staying here? I don’t want to climb down again.”

“For a while longer,” he hummed, nuzzling the tip of Dorian’s nose. “I’ll bring you down. You don’t have to climb like a laetan.”

“But I thought you enjoyed the view when I climbed,  _ amatus _ .”

“Be that as it may.” He quirked his brows. “You are alright, aren’t you? I wasn’t as careful as I’d have liked.”

Dorian chuckled, cupping his chin and drawing him closer for a kiss, warm breath against warmer skin. “I’m feeling wonderful. And I’m resilient. And I don’t mind if you’re a little reckless.”

“The tiles are sharp,” he murmured against his lips. “Your back’s alright? Are you certain you don’t wish for me to take a look?”

His skin  _ was  _ raw. Dorian was surprised he hadn’t realized it, but it hadn’t really seemed important. “Perhaps I could do with a bit of healing. Or maybe I could keep the marks. Feed into the narrative of our deception. Speaking of which…” He winked, quirking his brows. “We haven’t put that crop to use yet.”

Rilienus blinked at him, all that emerald in those wide eyes. “What in the Void are you talking about? Why would- I’m not going to hit you. I don’t care how-” He looked so horrified, the gentle warmth of his expression dissolving with concern. “I won’t hurt you, Dorian. I won’t do it. No matter what they ask of me, I won’t.”

Dorian shook his head, sighing, still smiling. “I know. That’s not at all what I meant, you sweet, beautiful man. I was…” He chuckled, squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“I know they think I have. I don’t care what they think. I won’t do it,” he repeated, kissing his fingers. “Three times I’ve had to shadow someone, I only used the crop once and it was- awful. I had to. The Praeceptor didn’t believe I would so he made me- He won’t make me again. I’ll take the Chain again before I hurt you.”

“Maker, no. Absolutely not. No Chains. No following the Praeceptor’s edicts. I wasn’t saying…” Dorian tugged him closer, enveloping him in his arms. “I was just saying… You can be a little rougher with me. You have a lot of reason to be angry, and I have… I don’t mind… Besides, you’re a healer. Wouldn’t even leave a mark.”

“It isn’t your fault. None of it is your fault. Why would you think I would take it out on you-” He frowned. “Because of that day? I was angry. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was trying to give you the space you’d asked for.”

“Shh, love, don’t worry about it. I  _ know _ . I know.” Dorian molded him to his chest. How to explain? “I… It… It can be sexy, you know, giving up control to someone else. Agreeing to…  _ Kaffas _ .”

Rilienus’ arms closed around him, holding him tight. He was quiet for a long moment. “You… want me… to hurt you?”

“No,” he said, sighing, laughing uncomfortably. “Yes. I mean… Maker. Have you never…? Nevermind. Forget it. I never said any of this.”

“Have I never what?”

That sweet, wonderful, beautiful man. Gentle and kind and lovely. Wielding a weapon he couldn’t bring himself to use. Andraste’s justice, the Order’s fist, and…

“Been tied up and spanked and fucked mercilessly, for the Maker’s sake.” Dorian couldn’t hold it together, he let out a peal of laughter, loud enough to ring the bell towers without Rilienus’ silencing wards. “Maker, Ril, I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean what?” he asked quietly, his brow furrowed. 

He wanted the sky to open up and swallow him whole, to drown in the stars. “Maker’s breath. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. But what if I asked you to? Just a little.” 

“...Like I asked you to use me?” 

“Exactly.” Dorian chuckled, feeling ridiculous, his cheeks flushed bright red, as red as the strawberries Rilienus had snuck him just a few days before. “Do you think me insane? Are you surprised? I like to… It’s a paradox, isn’t it? I hate being subjected to another’s will, but also… There’s a strange allure when it’s someone you trust. Am I making even a lick of sense? Agh… Forget I said anything.”

“No-” He frowned. “No. I- I need some time with this.” He met Dorian’s eyes, sober and soft, brows drawn. “I don’t want to forget anything you say. I don’t want to ignore what you ask. I only- find the concept-” He swallowed, “Why would- nn.” He frowned again. “Other Circles must be very different.”

Dorian groaned, rolling over and hiding his head in his arms, trying to block out his embarrassment by hiding himself from the world. Damn his stupid mouth and his stupid jokes. If a gust of wind had knocked him off the ramparts, he would have welcomed it, just to get away from the burning in his cheeks. 

“Just… just don’t think about it,” Dorian mumbled, voice muffled. “It never needs to come up again. But yes. Very different. It’s a game, not a punishment. Ah… I want to sink through the roof. Can you make me invisible for a few hours? Would be very much appreciated.”

“But then I couldn’t see you.” Rilienus pried his arms apart, peering through at him curiously. “Hello, bright spark. I missed you.”

“Must you be so wonderful?” Dorian yanked him down on top of him, snuggling him close, kissing his cheeks, his own still warm to the touch. “Is there anything you want from  _ me _ , since I’ve already broken the proverbial ice? You could hardly ask for anything more inflammatory than I just did.”

“I like what we do.” Rilienus tilted his head to the side, sitting up on his elbows over him. “I’m afraid- my experience may be somewhat more limited than yours.” He kissed his chin. “I wish I could hold you for a time. I wish I could watch you sleep.” He sighed, “I’ve been trying to work on a simulacrum that might be effective, but it’s… shoddy. Illusions aren’t my forte.”

Dorian’s eyes widened, his smile returning as quickly as it had vanished. “Really? Why didn’t you mention it? You know… We could do some work together. A joint effort. With joint benefits.”

He ducked his head, kissed Dorian’s cheek. “I’ll admit, that was my hope.”

Dorian was already rolling him off, onto the shingles, almost ready to scramble to his feet before a sharp pain reminded him of his poor abused back. “Ah, ouch! I might have underestimated the extent of my injuries. Post-coital endorphins and such. Would you mind patching me up? Don’t want it to scar.”

“Let’s see it, then.” Rilienus sat back, flexing his fingers. “How have you managed to get this far and not learn some manner of basic healing?”

Dorian let the robe cascade over his shoulders, dropping down to the shingles below. He turned, wincing; now that he’d recovered somewhat, he was starting to really  _ feel  _ what they’d managed to do. There was blood on the back of his robes, spotting it here and there, and the fabric was torn in several places, long gashes covering the green robes, ruby drops on the white bedsheet. 

“ _ Kaffas _ ,” Dorian breathed, examining the murder scene. “Must’ve snagged on something. I swear, I didn’t even realize it. Well, at least not enough to mind. And I… typically end up relying on the generosity of others. I’ve always been better with corpses than with the living, truth be told.”

He felt Rilienus’ fingers brush his bare shoulder, a pull of mana as he whistled low, and the stinging eased. “Surface wounds,” Rilienus murmured, kissing his shoulder. “I knew I was too rough. Blighted tiles.” His touch felt like cool rain as Rilienus traced his skin. “Should I leave the least of them, for effect? You won’t scar.” 

“Do they make me look dangerous?” Dorian chuckled, taking his hand. “Alluring? More trouble than I’m worth? Like I’m someone who shouldn’t be trifled with?”

“They look like you were hurt,” Rilienus kissed his thumb. 

“I’d like to keep them. As a trophy. You can remember what it felt like to have me under the stars, tomorrow morning while you’re watching me swim.” 

“As though I’m in danger of forgetting.”

He chuckled, running his thumb along Rilienus’ lower lip. “Though my robes and sheet could use some attention too, I’m afraid. Maker, I’m starting to feel like a vagabond.”

“Yes, you’re quite nearly destitute,” Rilienus murmured archly, plucking Dorian’s robe up and settling in to study the stains and tears. He frowned down at the sharp edge of the tile roof that had sliced through the sheet. “I’ll bring something padded next time.”

“Next time?” Dorian laughed, settling in beside him, running a hand along his back. “My, my. _Now_ , who’s the glutton?”

“I like you under an open sky. It’s where you belong.” 

“ _ Tu fais aussi _ ,” Dorian wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his head on Rilienus’ shoulder, feeling the pull of muscle as he worked to render the cloth whole and unblemished again. “ _ La mise en cage d'un rossignol est un crime contre les dieux. _ You deserve to be free. To finally see you soar, what a fabulous sight it will be.”

Rilienus tutted softly under his breath. “Crimes against gods don’t matter in the Maker’s house.” He whistled mana to his fingertips again, coaxing the blood from the cloth with a gentle flex of his fingers. “Do you not like it up here? I thought it was a clever spot. Hidden from the other tower. Warded, it’s nearly perfect.”

A rush of heat filled him to his toes as he watched Rilienus cast. So delicate, those fingers, so deft and- his cheeks flushed again at the memory of what they’d done inside of him. “You misunderstand. I’d spend every moment of every evening up here with you, if you wanted.” Dorian smiled, running a hand through his hair, gazing out over the blinking lights of Minrathous, off in the distance. “But perhaps a few nights on a mattress, under a roof and in your arms would be good for our skin. Not to mention my sleep.”

“The simulacra, then, to excuse your absence from your room? And I’ve been tinkering with some correspondence pockets. If they work for the inanimate, I’ll test them on field mice. Maybe a few cats.” He glanced up from the robe, “I suppose I should ask, shouldn’t I. I’d very much like you in my bed, in my room- it’s the matter of getting you there and keeping you there I’ve been puzzling out.”

“ _ Maker _ ,” Dorian breathed, shaking his head, his eyes wide. 

Serious. He was  _ serious  _ about it. Serious about  _ him.  _ About wanting to keep him close. About risking so much to accomplish it. Putting himself in danger for a little warmth. It was sweet, and somehow unexpected, despite the words they’d been saying. Despite the fact he’d already mentioned it once. 

He’d never made a habit of waking up with another. Too risky. For many reasons. The least of which was getting found out. 

“Are you certain?” Dorian asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. Not sure he would  _ believe  _ it, even if he did. “You don’t need to- Do you mean it?”

Rilienus blinked. “You don’t want to?”

“I-” Dorian stammered, wringing his hands, his mind a torrent. “I- I- Rilienus, of course I want to. I just… it seems so soon. I didn’t expect you to… I- Nobody has ever asked me to- But… yes. I want the same thing. I- It’s just that I’m terrified.”

“Terrified?” the dear man repeated, frowning with concern.

“Of putting you in danger for- I’ve never- What does this mean for us?”

“It’s safer, isn’t it? Having one place that’s secured where we can be together?” he placed a hand over Dorian’s. “Actually be. Not that I mind being tossed over desks when we can find them, but- that has its share of complications.”

Dorian looked up into those deep wells of emerald green, unsure what to say, to do. Rilienus was smiling, smirking really- he was always smirking- and it made him want to return the gesture, so he did, allowing his lips to turn up at the edges, finding the pattern they were meant to hold. “So, you wish to keep seeing me, then? My presence hasn’t begun to wear?”

Rilienus laughed out loud, a startling rarity, his head thrown back with mirth. “Do I wish- What idiot would want anything less than to keep seeing you? Maker’s tears,” he shook his head. “Ah, you’re delightful.”

“Truly, though?” Dorian asked quietly, looking at their hands. “It’s not just words? You mean to keep me?”

“I can’t possibly  _ keep _ you,” he quirked his brow, leaning in to kiss him. “But I can provide you with a haven. I can do that. Well. I can try. With your assistance.” He squeezed Dorian’s hands. “Dorian?”

That damned familiar tightness in his throat- when had he gotten so sentimental? He couldn’t speak, didn’t want to, afraid of the sound of his voice. Cracking, probably, a chink in a dam holding back a lake nearly overflowing with emotion. 

He threw his arms around Rilienus’ shoulders, holding him tightly, breathing in the smell of squid ink and beeswax, of wine that reminded him of home. 

Home. Had he ever had one? Truly? One where he felt secure enough to be himself,  _ really _ himself? Was this what it felt like to have one? The Order was awful, dreadful, stifling, and yet… The lows seemed a paltry price to pay for soaring these highs. He could handle a hundred, a thousand visits to the Praeceptor’s office, lashings and isolation and Chains, if he could have  _ this _ . This tiny slice of liberty. The stolen moments where he felt whole.

“We should begin our work,  _ amatus _ ,” he said, finally tugging Rilienus to his feet. He gathered his robe about his shoulders again, clasp after clasp falling back into place, the cloth on the back perfectly mended, just like his skin. Dorian wadded his sheet into his satchel and took another swig of the bottle of wine, which had somehow gotten caught sideways on a shingle and hadn’t crashed to the ground below. “I don’t want to spend another night without you if I can help it.”

“You-  _ Now _ ? You want to work now?” Rilienus asked, bewildered. “In the middle of the night, when we were just-” 

“Work, now, yes. Up.” Dorian laughed, taking a few cautious steps towards the edge of the roof. “We need to get the simulacrum working and you said something about adapting a communication pocket for transport? Tricky. It’ll take a few hours to work through at the very least. Best get started now, before prayers.”

“Dorian,” he huffed, rolling his eyes, “Fine. Just stay for a moment.” He collected his webbed ward from the shingles and spun them back around his wrist, shaking his head. “Not a communication pocket,” he said as he rejoined him at the edge. He splayed his hand out ahead of them and hummed a low tone, thickening the air and stepping out onto it. “Correspondence. I’ll show you. It’s based on a Neromenian weaving I read about.”

“Oh?” Dorian followed him, mind whirring with possibilities. “I didn’t know that much written text survived on the Neromenians. And as far as I was aware, the dialect made their language a challenge to translate, particularly for the types of complexities involved with the arcane. Where’d you manage to find a book on that?”

“Restricted section,” he smirked, lazy and sly. “ _ Adoucis ton voix _ ,  _ mon aube, _ ” he kissed his cheek. “Mind yourself.”

“ _Kaffas_ , you should put the ward up again so I can shout your name from the rooftops.” 

“You have. I remember it well.”

Dorian chuckled, tilting Rilienus’ chin with his thumb to meet his lips. “Come on, you’ve got quite a bit to explain, we’ll need your notes, any relevant materials- Should I get my grimoire? Eh, I don’t need it. My memory should suffice.”

Rilienus chuckled wryly, shaking his head as they alighted on the stone walkway. “Maker save me from your ego. Your memory should ‘suffice’? With transportative theory?” 

“Of course,” Dorian said, laughing lightly. “Spatial transference is relatively simple, compared to… say… temporal, for example? Though, of course, not as easy as energetics. Still, I believe I could at least get started, check back with my notes later, perhaps, if anything seems off. 

“If anything seems off,” he repeated.

“Yes. And the simulacrum should be straightforward; though, getting it to move and sound like me, hmm… The visuals, at least, I could do in my sleep.”

“Of course you could.” He squeezed his hand in the shadows, then stepped ahead of him, slipping back into his costume of stiff shoulders and lifted chin. “Follow.”

“Yes, Dominus,” Dorian chirped, trying to keep the excitement from his eyes. “As you command.”

He followed him down the winding stair again, across the starlit courtyard. The library would be the most sensible place for them to begin, but Rilienus passed it, then he passed the classrooms, and strode up the steps of the dormitory. His room, then. That made sense. Privacy and his notes were there- Only Rilienus paused before the door to Dorian’s room and stopped. “Thank you for your service. You’re done until tomorrow.” 

“Done?” Dorian shook his head, staring. “What do you mean- I-” He cursed under his breath. Played like a damned harp. “ _ Ugh _ , fine. If you say so.”

“Best of luck with your osmosis illusion studies,” he murmured dryly, tucking his wrists against his spine and giving a slight bow. “I will retrieve you for your fast-breaking.”

Dorian sighed deeply, disappointed. “Oh, yes, retrieve me for fast-breaking. Andraste watch over your backside, or whatever it is you say.”

“By Her Light.” The slightest twitch of those lips that had smiled and laughed and driven him mad not so long before- Just a twitch in the midst of such steel indifference, a hint of what lay beneath, then he turned on his heel and strode off down the hall and out of sight. 


	11. To think is to be full of sorrows

##  Rilienus 

  
“This  _ should _ work-“ Dorian frowned, glancing between the three books in front of him. 

“I think not.”

“It should. They’re the correct runes, they’re in the correct order-“

“Symmetry with the Veil,” Rilienus glanced up from his scroll to frown as more students tread past their corridor. Hellish, the number of people who had the audacity to study in public on their day of relief from classes. Abominable that he’d allowed himself to be talked into coming to the library to work, rather than retreating to his blissfully quiet room, with his privacy and his wards and his notes and his  _ bed- _

”Yes, of course, I was taking that into account,  _ mon rossignol _ .” 

He hissed under his breath, narrowing his eyes as Dorian cast a cheerful smile at him.  _ Cheerful _ . He could have kissed him and strangled him at the same time. “Keep your  _ chatter _ to a minimum, if you please.”

“But it’s so quiet in here,” Dorian exclaimed.

“That’s the idea,” he lifted his brows. 

“Oh, I know. The  _ Clavis Et Fata _ has a section on temporal and spatial acclimation.” 

And he was off again. Rilienus shook his head. Ever since he’d plucked Dorian up that morning, he’d spoken of nothing but their ‘project’. He’d sprung out of confinement with a packet of notes he’d apparently taken through the night, plans and designs for his simulacrum, lists of the materials they would need to accrue. 

That he was invested,  _ excited _ , not only by the prospect of the project, but it’s goal made Rilienus want to grin foolishly. Instead, he bit his tongue and forced his expression to remain closed. Another reason he wished they were in private. Somewhere he could doff these robes and their associated costume. Where he could think clearly instead of using a portion of his thoughts to maintain his facade, check his surroundings, periodically prod and taste the air for spells that might spy. He gritted his teeth, turning one of the tomes Dorian had collected in his direction to scan the page. He had a point. The references they needed were all here. 

When he was alone, in the quiet between classes, he loved the library. But the more it filled with people and drivel, the less it felt like his place. He glanced up at the sound of Dorian’s warm laughter and the answering giggle of the blond underclassman… Lilian? Leilani? Lisandra? Whatever her name was, she was becoming a chore. She appeared to have developed a fixation on Dorian and while that was all well and good - who could blame her, certainly not Rilienus- and he appreciated that Dorian positively  _ feasted _ on the attention, it was troublesome knowing she was watching him extra close. Darting in with her questions and gossip and endless nattering on about things of no interest. Three days of listening to her chatter at Dorian was beginning to grate on his nerves. 

“So then he said that if she was going to act like a toad, she might as well look like one, and then he  _ changed _ her! Right into a toad. I’ve never seen anyone do that!” she was grinning as Dorian returned to the table with an armful of books and scrolls. “Polyshaping is hard enough on a form your familiar with, let alone a stranger! But she was - snap - immediately licking flies from the air.” She paused, hesitating as she caught sight of Rilienus. 

Rilienus lifted a brow at her, deftly crossing his wrists. “Who was this?”

“Prefect Bana already took him to the Praeceptor,” she said, frowning, her voice only quieting somewhat. She’d apparently decided that Dorian’s nonchalance meant that he was less concerning than she’d previously believed. “Dominus,” she added belatedly. 

He eyed her, unblinking, until her cheeks began to color. 

“It was Plenex, but I swear Prefect Bana already took him-“

“And the girl?”

“The girl?”

“The girl.” He crossed his arms. “The toad.”

“Oh, she-“ she frowned, “well, someone must have collected her.” 

“Where.”

“In the lower garden, but-“

Rilienus gritted his teeth, pointing at Dorian. “You stay here. I can’t have you wandering unsupervised.”

“I’ll come with you,” he began.

And how would that look? he wondered. If they were seen wandering about in the open gardens on a Sunday morning? “Just-  _ stay _ .” 

It took him a little over an hour to locate the  _ frog _ , not toad, collect her, and transport her to the Circle’s resident expert on shapeshifting. By the time he returned to the library, he wanted to kick someone in the teeth. Instead, he returned to the table they had been working at… only to find it empty. “Dorian,” he hissed under his breath, and felt a trickle of electricity leap from the surface to his fingers, burning up his forearm to spell the words  _ ‘memoria spiritus’. _ He locked his wrists to his spine and stalked down the center aisle towards the shelves allocated to the collected dictations of various spirits- and there he found Dorian at a new table, with a new stack of books, surrounded by the girl and her friend and the siblings he’d recently collected into his little gaggle. 

“See, I told you he would find us,” Dorian smiled charmingly. “A regular bloodhound, this one is.”

The dark haired girl gasped under her breath, glancing between them. 

“I told you to stay where I left you.”

“Well, I couldn’t, you see.” He tapped his books. “I found a tangent that became essential.”

Rilienus gritted his teeth.

“I did stay in the building, Dominus,” he added, smiling sweetly.

As if he cared. As if that was the point. Dorian  _ knew _ that wasn't the point. Rilienus had to make a show of this task, had to, for them. For them both. “How very thrilling for you.” All it took was a single word. A single word from any of his new ‘friends’, whoever they were, to the wrong ear or near the wrong ear, and they were finished. Did he truly not understand that or was he being willfully obtuse? 

Dorian sobered, sighing, his entire body slumping ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, Maecilia. Not your fault you’ve got to trail me around like a duckling. Not your fault the only interesting thing I’ve done is a bit of casual insolence every now and again.” He looked up, meeting Rilienus’ eyes, shards of silver and steel. “I bristle against it. Being controlled. I loathe being… caged.”

Dorian’s radiant smile returned, just for a moment, and then he vanished, leaving behind a puff of purple smoke, filling the alcove, and a pile of discarded robes and that damned red cape. Gasps from around the table, eyes searching the air. The mist began to solidify into a small ball of light.

A loud crack filled the room and the mist evaporated, leaving nothing but a flitting songbird, hovering, flying in the air as though it didn’t quite know how to use its wings.

A  _ nightingale _ , of all Blighted creatures. Of course it was. Symbolism and hidden messages, flashed in plain sight like a beacon. Torture. Dorian might as well have been the one with the whip, for all the misery he seemed willing to dole out.

The nightingale landed on the blond girl’s shoulder, stepping with tiny light feet down her arm and into her outstretched hand.  _ Singing _ , Dorian started  _ singing _ , chirping out a merry little tune, as though he was in an endless forest, wild and free and desperately in love and not in a damned tower, surrounded by candlelight and dusty tomes and a handful of people who could ruin them.

Dorian alighted, landing on the table, facing Rilienus, head tilted ever so slightly. Was he asking a question, giving an apology, or the Maker knew what else?

The kissing was becoming less imperative than the strangling now. It was a perfect transformation. Perfect. One more thing he would be forced to add into his report. One more thing the Praeceptor would know, the Praetor would know- And why hadn’t he bloody well  _ said _ that he could shapeshift the night before when Rilienus had been spouting about correspondence through pocket dimensions? Or this morning? Why were they wasting their time with work when the effort wasn’t even necessary? Needless expense of time. And- was there anything he  _ couldn’t _ do? No. Probably not. Rilienus had felt Dorian’s wellspring for himself- bathed in it and emerged drunk. 

What possible interest could he be to someone like this? What use? What value? When Rilienus’ best laid plans and efforts were as child’s play? When the rules by which he played his life were nothing more than a game to Dorian? One he  _ liked _ to play? Was that it then? Was that why he could remain so full of life and cheer and spirit? Was none of it  _ real _ ? Did none of it  _ matter _ ? Dorian had his eyes on leaving this place and Rilienus was busy trying to make the cage more comfortable. Of course, it was a game. Of course, it was. He’d been an idiot. He’d gotten lost, caught in the fire.

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Change back. Now.” 

The bird was staring at him, as though it was trying to bury itself into his very soul. A twitch of its feathered chin and it was flying again, nestling into the pile of robes on the chair that Dorian had previously occupied.

Another sharp snap and he’d assumed human form again, fitting perfectly into his clothing, his hair and mustache ever so slightly mussed. 

His excitement seemed dampened, especially compared to the faces of his companions. 

“Didn’t know it would work,” Dorian muttered, turning his nose back to his book. “Theoretically, of course, it should’ve, but practically, all sorts of things can go wrong. A mistake in reading the circumstances and you could spend the rest of your life eating insects.”

Isn’t that what we all are to you? he thought, knowing it was unkind. His chest ached and he could feel the urgent heat behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth, dragged a chair away from the table and sat. Rilienus couldn’t speak. Speaking was a release and if he opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure what he would say or do. Sitting had been the wrong idea as well, as he felt like he was going to start shaking, but it was better than throwing something. He drew himself closed, exhaling his anger into the mind’s eye images of walls and turrets, and eyed them all impassively from his battlements. 

“Prefect?” Dorian’s eyes had softened, steel into quicksilver, his voice into velvet. “I’m feeling a bit faint. I think the transfiguration took a bit more out of me than I thought. If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind escorting me back to the dorms?”

For once, he didn’t have to manufacture his sneer as he shoved himself to his feet again. Back and forth. Up and down. Endless cycles through the only world he knew. Walls and stones, high towers, Chantry bells that marked his time. Controlled his time. Controlled him. 

And Dorian could fucking  _ fly _ ? 

He flexed his hands as he crossed them at his back, grinding his teeth. He wasn’t a keeper. He was a Blighted butler. And they could see it, every one of them. One of them would say something, probably the girl with the garish gold bands in her hair. Rilienus would be whipped again for the first time in years. Dorian- Maker knew what they would do to  _ him _ . What they would  _ think _ they’d done anyway. As if there was anything they could do that wouldn’t simply wash away from Dorian like so much sand. 

Inconvenience. 

Pawns and inconveniences. Dorian was surrounded by pawns and inconveniences. 

And Rilienus had thought that he was different from the rest of them. 

He inhaled sharply, not meeting Dorian’s eyes, as another wave of heat washed the backs of his eyes. Damn him if he thought he could be the one to break him. He might have to endure and struggle, but nothing had broken him yet and this wouldn’t either. The sun was searing, bright, as he stepped outside and he stared into the sky, willing that light and heat to burn him and dry him out and leave him stronger.

“Ril?” Dorian was having to rush to keep up with him. As soon as the trickle of students died away, he was at his shoulder. “Ril, I’m sorry. I—thought you would appreciate it. I think I could shift you too, if you wanted. I’m sorry. Please don’t be—“

Rilienus clenched his fist as he felt the infernal, damning trickle down his cheek. Tears. When had he last lost so much of his control that he’d cried, let alone where anyone could see him? “There,” he managed to speak in a moderated tone, nodding towards the ivy cloaked dormitory building. “Off you go.”

Dorian stared at him, open-mouthed and wide eyed, unmoving. “Rilienus?”

He could feel his jaw trembling, feel another tear escape. The whole aquifer was going to break. He could accept that. It was just a matter of holding enough of it back until he could slip behind his wards and workings and  _ deal _ with it. Repair it. He lifted his chin. “I need to not be here,” he said quietly. “So. Go. Now.”

“Please—“ Dorian’s eyes were beginning to brim with tears as well. He could see the sparkling reflection growing in the corner. “Please don’t make me leave you like this. Please—I can hide it for us, like after you gave me the Eye. Just don’t make me go.”

“I can’t  _ make you _ do anything,” he snarled, swallowing as his body betrayed him, hot lines of grief searing his cheeks, catching in his beard. “Isn’t that your point? No one can. You’ll do exactly as you please, and damn the consequences- they don’t affect you anyway.”

Dorian shook his head, his eyes bright and watery, fractals of quicksilver. “It’s not true.  _ You _ can. A word and I’ll leave you be. We can forget everything. Go back to our respective lives. I’ll stop. Obsequious and silent, until this cape can be removed. And then you needn’t ever see me again, if you don’t wish it. I can give you that. I will, if it’s what you want.”

There. There it was. Easy. It would be easy for Dorian to leave, to forget. What was one less toy in a world full of them? Especially when Rilienus was so dreadfully inadequate as a tool, as a pawn. No grit. No power. Pretty enough, but pretty wasn’t difficult to replace.  _ Love _ . He nearly spat. How could he have let himself believe in it again? Hadn’t he learned? Was he so entrenched in his deception of banality that he’d lost the ability to differentiate between what was reality and fantasy? 

“I had hoped—“ Dorian’s voice was wavering, trembling. “I wanted more than anything for this time… I would’ve given anything for… I had thought we were—when you asked me to—“ Crumbling and collapsing, Dorian was going as limp as a rag doll, sinking to the ground before the ivy-coated tower. “I suppose I was wrong. I should’ve known better than to think I was deserving of love.”

“Get up.” Rilienus exhaled sharply as the door to the dorms opened and a pair of young women paused on the steps. He could only imagine what they thought, seeing him standing over Dorian. “Go,” he snapped and watched them run, then looked back to Dorian, “Get. Up.” 

“I  _ can’t _ —“ he gasped, his voice a low, tremulous rasp. “I feel ill. I can scarcely breathe.”

“I’m sure,” he frowned. What was the point of it? Of the game? Of the display? “Spare me. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but this isn’t the way to do it. You can’t-“ 

“Who put you up to this? To lie to me? Make me think you cared, only to—“

“ _ I _ lied to  _ you _ ?” he hissed, dragging Dorian bodily from the ground. “ _ I _ did? When you want to throw it over and forget? I mean nothing to you. Less than nothing.  _ Games- _ I told you, I won’t play them. I won’t be used like a pawn. I won’t.” 

“You think that’s what I want? To pretend like you’re not everything to me? I thought it was what  _ you _ wanted. I’m too much trouble. Heaps of it. An endless stream of problems. Tarnish on your medals. I won’t try to keep you any longer if you’ve tired of me. It’s cruel. It’s cruel and I love you too much to subject you to it.”

Rilienus stared at him. Was that it, then? Was that his play? To expose them? Did he think that would get him out of here? That? Had Dorian not heard him when he’d said no one was expelled from the Order? No one left before the Praetor was good and ready to let them go.

Dorian pulled himself away, brushing off his knees, tears falling freely down his cheeks. “I await your decision, Dominus. Tell me what you wish.”

What he wished?  _ Wished _ ? Hadn’t Rilienus  _ told _ him his wishes? His past and his present? Hadn’t he shared and shown and spoke, for the first time in years, of who he was and what he wanted? Mere hours before, in the starlight, when everything had seemed possible and true? Was it all so meaningless that he’d forgotten? Was he so insignificant? 

“Please, Ril,” Dorian begged. He looked so fragile, so at odds with what he  _ was _ . “Please just tell me the truth. Do you still want me?”

How could he appear so vulnerable? How could he fake it so exceedingly well? Another illusion? Practice? But even Opiter had only played that part in shadows, collecting his evidence for the Praeceptor. He hadn’t stood in the light, exposed- He gritted his teeth. “Follow,” he snapped and turned, striding down the shaded walk away from the dorms. He would know. One way or another, he would understand. 

Dorian did as bidden, for once, as mute and docile as a shadow. He could hear the sound of his footsteps echoing along the corridor, but precious little else. There seemed to be something… missing… about him. That fire that usually accompanied his every movement seemed to have vanished, no fog or mist or smoke to explain its passing. No spring in his strides, nor the humming, furious energy that signaled his anger. Dorian had wilted, like an orchid in the frost.

Rilienus opened a door to a classroom and ushered him inside. He let his senses spread, feeling for traps and presences, and then took his time laying out his ward. All the while Dorian stood. Quiet. Like a shell. The door latched and the light of the webs spread across the room. “What are you doing?” Rilienus asked, frowning. 

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing’?” Dorian’s voice sounded hollow, as though he was speaking through a tunnel filled with water. His eyes seemed dark for once, nearly as dark as the kohl that lined his eyelids. Obsidian where there once was starlight. “I’m telling you how I feel.”

Rilienus scrubbed his hands over his face. “Dorian.” He looked up, ignoring the kohl left on his palms. “I need you to understand some things. This,” he gestured between them, “won’t get you expelled. Beaten, certainly, but you’ve no reason to be worried about that. They won’t send you away. For anything. The only way you get out is if your family extricates you or you graduate. I understand that you hate it here.  _ I _ hate it here. But this isn’t going to work. And whatever I feel or don’t feel, I won’t allow you to use me in your ploy.” He met that obsidian and fought to keep his expression impassive. Fought and failed, but what did it matter? 

“Is that what you think this was? A scheme?” Dorian closed his eyes, a hand on the bridge of his nose, his voice strangled. “That I was—that I’m capable of— _ Maker _ , do you even know me at all? I thought you saw me, that you understood… How could you think so little of me? I’m not sure what hurts more, your rejection, or your believing that I was  _ using _ you.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Rilienus whispered, sinking to one of the benches. “I  _ didn’t _ . I thought you were  _ different _ , but I don’t understand why- I can’t fathom what would possess you to- Don’t you see that this entire conversation might well be moot within the hour, after that display? We’re walking entirely in the Maker’s light if no one managed to overhear or read something into-“

“You don’t want me to go?” Just a tiny glimmer, a spark, within pools of dark gray. Had Dorian not heard anything he’d just said? Was he really that daft?

“What- Why would I-  _ You _ want me to. You said you could  _ forget _ . How could you- How could you  _ forget _ unless it meant nothing?” He pressed his palms to his eyes to stem the tide, “Gods and monsters, I’m a fool.”

“You asked me to go, when you were nearly sobbing! I begged you to let me stay. I thought—“ Dorian knelt before him, tears pouring from his eyes, dropping to the dusty floor like rain. “I wanted to—I was so happy earlier, fluttering, you asked me to  _ stay with you _ . Have you any idea what that meant? I can’t… I’m no good at hiding. My walls are as thick as parchment. And I—I don’t want—I’m terrified that it will end up hurting you.” 

“You can  _ fly _ ,” he snapped. “You can  _ shift _ . You don’t  _ need- _ You don’t need me. You don’t need transdimensional bolt holes when you can turn yourself into a bloody spider and slink off. Why wouldn’t you just say that? If what you- I- You don’t need me. I’m a game to you. But I don’t want to be that. I don’t-“ he hung his head miserably. “You don’t need anything from me and you can let go so easily. I don’t understand what you  _ want _ .”

“I can’t let go easily. It would—you were the first person in my life who bothered trying to see me. To know me for myself. It wouldn’t be a simple thing. It would kill me.” Dorian rested his forehead on Rilienus’ knees, deflated and defeated. “But if it’s what you wanted, I would try. Try and make it through the rest of my days in my own personal agony, knowing that you were here, within my reach, and you didn’t want me. Try and leave you be, to let you live out your safe existence. Try and not succumb to the grief of feeling that, for a moment, I was transcendent. That I had someone worth fighting for. A reason. A home.”

“Not want you?” Rilienus asked, perplexed. “Not want- Have you not been paying attention? Have you not heard anything I’ve said to you?”

“I heard you tell me to go. Repeatedly.” Dorian’s head tilted as he looked up at him. “What was I to think? That you wanted me to stay?”

“To your  _ room _ , you great idiot. Not out of my life. Are you mad?”

Dorian’s eyes widened, some of the color returning to his face. “I—perhaps I am. It has certainly felt that way the past several days. I misunderstood? You still—you never stopped wanting me?”

Rilienus could feel a headache starting to work into the back of his eyes. “From when?” he rubbed his temples. “From last night? When I was spilling my life story before you like a fool?”

The tears again. Dorian’s Blighted eyes and their Blighted tears. If he was acting, it was a phenomenal show.

“I just—I suppose a part of me still expects it to be a lie or a dream or anything other than what it seems. It’s too… fantastical. That I could be this happy. Here. That you’re real. Does that—do you understand?”

“No, Dorian,” he sighed, “As you can see, I have a great deal of experience trusting people and feeling glad to be alive, or feeling alive at all. I’ve no idea what you could possibly be talking about.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t just go on and on about me playing you for a fool. You think it’s too good to be true as well.” Dorian exhaled deeply, sinking further into his lap. “I’m not playing. I’ve got no talent for lies and games, nor interest in them. I’m just… Ugh, Maker, don’t tell anyone how you had me sobbing on the ground because you told me to go to my room. What an embarrassment. Or do. It might fit into the rumors Lethina is no doubt fabricating downstairs about how you dragged me off by my ear to have me flogged. To cover for… whatever that dreadful display was.”

“Horrifying.” He cupped Dorian’s cheek, hesitantly smoothing a hand over the back of his head. “I do love you, Dorian. I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. There are plenty of things I’ll lie about. Not that.”

“No. Not that.” Dorian’s smile didn’t match its usual brilliance. Tentative. Fragile. Hurt. But it was there again, a beacon in the darkness. “I love you, too. I wasn’t lying about feeling faint though. Do you think I could rest for a time? I’ve heard rumors that you’ve the best view in all Minrathous at your window. It could be heartening to see.”

Rilienus sighed, pressing his lips to Dorian’s forehead. Rest. Yes. Rest and willowbark and elfroot. He guided Dorian gently to his feet and steadied him there, “Can you follow?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once and stepped back into the corridor, listening to the steady echo of Dorian’s feet behind him as he made his way up the second tower, away from the main dormitories. He skimmed his fingers over his door, feeling for any sign that it had been opened, feeling for all the familiar lines and arcs of his various wards. Satisfied, he caught the second hidden handle beneath the first, then stepped aside. 

It was a spartan enough space. Four stone walls, a desk, a chest, a made bed. The blanket was grey, but soft. The rug was the color of fox fur; it had taken him three years to weave. The harp in the corner. The window with its two remaining panes of stained glass amidst the clear. 

He followed Dorian inside, carefully shutting the door and resetting his wards, then braced against the side of his desk. “I’m sorry that I scared you. I’m sorry that I scared  _ myself _ . I don’t- There are moments where I think that I understand you, and others where... I believe what you say - not out of any  _ reason _ , but because I  _ feel _ that it’s true - but I don’t understand what you get out of this. What benefit could I possibly be? Is it simply to know that you’re loved? You are. You’re a miracle. I want you to be  _ safe _ . How- I don’t  _ want _ you to have to pretend to be less than you are. I wish that you  _ could _ be as you are. I wish that  _ I _ could, but it isn’t- If you’re to stay safe and I’m to stay with you, they can’t find out. They can’t see. That doesn’t mean I expect you to hide what you’re capable of for my benefit. I understand what I am. I would prefer your candor to your indulgence, or worse, your pity.” He smoothed his hands out on the smooth wooden surface as he spoke, plucking at invisible strings that drew various pockets of space open from the air. A half-empty bottle of bartered claret. A handful of dried elfroot and powdered willowbark. A mortar and pestle. He frowned, tapping the side of the pestle to set it to its pattern in motion, grinding the herbs. “I told you before- I don’t need to be placated.”

“No pity. No indulgence. And you’ve always had my candor,  _ amatus _ . I’ve never been anything but honest with you.” Dorian sighed, sinking onto the bed, hands on his knees, eyes never leaving Rilienus. “I’d actually never tried that spell before. Never thought about it. Never had the inclination. Didn’t realize I  _ could _ even if I wanted to. But with you--you make the impossible seem within reach. As though I’m boundless. I was reckless. I endangered us both for the sake of… I couldn’t say why. To impress you? To show you that I love you? I don’t know. I’m very, very sorry. Can you find it within yourself to forgive me,  _ mon rossignol _ ?”

Rilienus sighed, watching the powder grow more and more fine in the stone mortar. “There’s nothing much to forgive, is there? Can you forgive me?” he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m a boor.”

“You are no such thing.” Dorian chuckled, a bit too sharply, his voice just a pitch too high. “A fool, perhaps, for trying to keep me safe, despite my apparent machinations to foil you at every turn. No, I was never upset with you. I was upset with myself for being an idiot. I feared I was going to lose you.”

“You might yet, but it won’t be for that. We don’t all have wards cloaking us from harm.” He closed his eyes, formulating the image of a small bowl in his mind’s eye and whistling his mana through the image to thicken the air in his palm into the shape. “It was an impressive transformation,” he admitted quietly, pouring the claret and sprinkling the dusted herbs over the top. “Flawless. As one might expect.” He offered the bowl. “See if this helps.”

Dorian extended a pair of shaking hands, taking the elixir and bringing it to his lips, drinking deeply, his eyes closed. “Wards. I could draw them for you. To help keep you safe. Just in case. Would you permit me?”

“I’d rather avoid the need for them,” he lifted a brow. “But if you’re going to insist on getting me flogged, certainly.”

“ _ Maker _ , no.” Dorian looked like he was going to faint, his skin blanching again. “No. I don’t want that.  _ Gods _ , no. I don’t know why I’m acting like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe you should confine me to my rooms for a bit, keep me from causing more trouble, give me time to adjust to--whatever it is.” He stammered, nearly spilling the wine. “Or--Maker, could you just hold me for a while? If it isn’t too much of a problem?” 

“One more sip,” Rilienus rested his hand beneath Dorian’s guiding the transparent bowl to his lips. “Your pallor is concerning.” He tilted his head, resting his fingers against Dorian’s temple. “You’re aware that shapeshifting is supposed to be a process, yes?”

Dorian allowed himself to be tended to like a baby bird. “I was aware. I just didn’t think it applied in my particular case.”

He laughed despite himself, feeling exhausted. “Color me surprised,” he murmured, collecting the bowl and taking his own draught before setting it aside. He fell to the bed and opened his arms.

Dorian nestled against him, resting his head against Rilienus’ chest, sighing in contentment. “And what color would that be precisely,  _ mon rossignol _ ?”

“Beige, maybe with a satin sheen,” he murmured against his hair. “I love you.”

“ _ J'échangerais une année de liberté contre une autre nuit dans tes bras. _ ” Dorian closed his eyes, nuzzling his cheek against the soft cloth of Rilienus’ robe. “I love you, too.”


	12. Charm’d magic casements...

##  Dorian

Gentle, rolling breaths and a steady, unflappable heartbeat lulled him to sleep like a ship tied safely to harbor. Every exhalation was a release of pent up emotion, sorrow and frustration and anger and fear and worry. Worry most of all. Dorian was worried. Worried about Rilienus. Worried about their secret. Worried that he couldn’t keep it from his face and his mind and his body. 

But for the moment, there was a reliable, predictable breeze against his cheek. Arms around his shoulders. And a blanket- When had Rilienus managed to cover them? The world was warm and safe and silent for the moment, except that beautiful, unyielding pulse in his lover’s neck. 

Dorian stayed unmoving for a long while, breathing him in, allowing the smell of ink and sweat and fresh grash from the gardens to wash over him like rolling tides. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out or whether Rilienus had ever been. It didn’t matter. Rilienus was  _ here _ ; he loved him and wanted him to stay. It was enough to live off of; Dorian could build a home in that knowledge and never need anything else again. 

He stirred as his muscles grew sore from the way his neck was turned to fit into the space between Rilienus’ shoulder and neck. Dorian pressed a kiss to his cheek, wanting to see his eyes again, to fall into them, to lose himself, to forget about anything but the endless forest that stared at him with such tenderness that he wanted to swaddle them both in slow-burning flames. 

“ _ Amatus _ ?” Dorian asked, his voice just over a whisper. “Are you well? Did you get any rest?”

Rilienus hummed low, kissing his cheek. “Enough. You?”

“I’d like to stay here forever, please.” Dorian smiled, stretching an arm and wrapping it around Rilienus’ shoulder, hugging him tightly. “Just tell them I died and keep me here in secret. The Maker finally saw fit to smite me. Nothing left but a couple of burn marks on the ground. Slip me peaches and plums and spend all of your breaks making love to me and telling me stories of the outside world.”

“I don’t have any stories of the outside world,” Rilienus chuckled. “And I would miss seeing you outside.” Still, his arms wrapped around Dorian’s back a little tighter. “Why don’t you tell me? What it’s like out there?”

“Hmm?” Dorian purred, turning his head to look up at him. “What is it you’d like to hear about? The world is a big place,  _ mon rossignol _ . Mind narrowing down the scope for me?”

“Where were you before you were sent here?”

Dorian chuckled, running a hand along Rilienus’ hairline, tucking stray curls behind his ears. “That hardly narrows,  _ amatus _ . I’ve been many places. Seven Circles I studied in, at least for brief periods. I’ve visited Orlais--I’ve mentioned that before--and Nevarra, the Anderfels, Antiva, and the Free Marches. Father took me to the Imperial Palace with him when I was young, before I was sent to Carastes. I’ve spent a lot of time in the city.” Dorian continued to stroke him absently, his easy smile returning. “Does anything spark your interest?”

There was a sadness to him, even when he was smiling. All soft, his fingers at play on Dorian’s back. Perhaps not entirely sad. Wistful. “Did you see any of the Rivaini soothspeakers in Antiva? I’ve read about them.”

“Yes, actually!” Dorian smiled all the brighter, in hopes a bit of the light could transfer on to him. “I snuck off to have my fortune told when Father was in meetings with some of the Merchant Princes and Mother… She usually liked to take a bottle with lunch and nap in the afternoons.”

“And?” Rilienus asked curiously. “What did they tell you?”

“That I was destined to meet a handsome prince trapped in a castle and he’d sing songs of freedom for me.” Dorian laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Of course.”

“Progressive soothspeaker,” he chuckled, running his fingers up and down Dorian’s spine. “You don’t have to tell me.” He paused. “I can tell your fortune for you. I’ve gotten fairly good at it. Short-term is difficult, but I can see farther out.” 

“Tell me, love, and then I’ll tell you what she actually said.”

Rilienus smoothed his palm across his back. “I’ll need a hair.” He lifted a brow. “Or a tooth, or a bone. Hair is easier. For you.”

Dorian plucked a raven strand from the top of his head and handed it between pinched fingers. “Alright. Work your magic,  _ amatus _ .”

Rilienus scooted up the bed, taking the hair in his palm. He exhaled a quick trill and the hair lifted in his palm, spinning slightly, before Rilienus dabbed his tongue to his lip, focusing on the point in the center of the strand. His pupils narrowed in pinpoints, his breath growing shallow, quiet little minor keys on each exhale. His lips moved vaguely as his head dipped, then dipped again, his eyes rolling to whites just before his head dropped heavily. 

Dorian grabbed him, steadying him, but it wasn’t necessary. Rilienus didn’t move. He wanted to snap him from the trance, to pull him back into their shared reality, but Rilienus was entirely unresponsive. A wave of panic washed over him as he slumped and nothing Dorian could do seemed to rouse him. He sat as the moments stretched, an eternity, a lifetime of silence.

Slowly his eyelids fluttered, dark lashes flexing over white orbs, and he blinked, breathing in deep. “It’s… split?” he murmured, his brow drawn. “There’s… balance there? Smoke that isn’t smoke. Broken things- a chrysalis. A window. An orb. A mirror that isn’t a mirror.” He pressed his eyes shut tight, “Obstacles behind you. Shattered things. Patterns woven and torn asunder. A voyage- Two. One you don’t take, that forces the second. Fingers grasping for the same fragment- A…” he tensed his forehead. “Loss you didn’t think would be a loss, folding, twice, three times. So much loss, but so much gained. Self. Your self, honed like a sculpture.” He winced, blinking his eyes open. “Muddled. Perhaps I’m not as good as I thought.”

“ _ Maker’s breath _ . You frightened me.” Dorian wrapped his arms around Rilienus, finally letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “What can any of that mean? My destiny is to suffer?”

“It didn’t feel like suffering?” Rilienus frowned at the hair resting in his palm. “More like… birth?” He scrubbed a hand over his chin, taking a shaking breath. “I’m sorry. The last time I tried this, it was very straight forward.”

Dorian sighed, pulling away, turning his face towards the window. Birds outside, singing sweetly. The afternoon sun. Chattering of students far below. 

“She said many things in that smoky Antivan tent. Most seemed nonsensical.” Dorian’s voice was faraway, almost disembodied. He felt detached, apart from himself. “There was one that stuck out. ‘You can never make him be proud of who you are. Nor will you be able to stop trying.’”

Rilienus frowned, gathering Dorian to his side. “Who?”

He’d puzzled over the words for a long time, years, before discarding them as the ravings of a madwoman. A southern hedge witch with dubious credentials and even more dubious advice. But over time, he wondered, a nagging scratch at the back of his mind that his hands couldn’t quite reach. Wondered if anything he did mattered. If it was all just as futile as the soothsayer had made it sound.

“My father,” Dorian answered, finally, his voice hushed, “has never approved of me, not since Carastes. And it’s only gotten worse since then.”

“If that’s true, then he’s a fool. You’ve a destiny in you,  _ mon aube _ . Those are rare.”

Dorian sighed, leaning into his embrace, resting his cheek against Rilienus’ shoulder. “Well, at least there’s one good thing to come of this reading.”

“What’s that?”

His laugh was joyless, hollow. “I’m not likely to die within these walls. A small reassurance, that.”

“Let’s not test that,” he kissed his cheek, drawing him atop him and wrapping his arms around him tightly. “I’m self-taught.”

“I had assumed you hadn’t picked up the skill from this lot of zealots,” Dorian chuckled, pressing their lips together to taste the wine and elfroot and stale breath. “Do they teach demon summoning as well as soothsaying? Shall we give up offerings to the Elvhen pantheon?”

“They do teach scapulomancy, but it’s blunted by prayers.” He ran his fingers up the back of Dorian’s head, sinking into his hair. “And spirit maintenance.” He kissed his lower lip tenderly. “I’m… sorry for what’s going to happen. For all of it. If it helps- I think it’s for the best?”

“Easy for you to say. You get to sit over here and watch it unfold.” Dorian chuckled, a crooked smile on his lips. “What’s your future then? Sunshine and kittens?”

“I can’t see my own. I tried once, just to be sure. Had a splitting headache for two weeks.” Rilienus met his gaze with a slight smirk. “Now I’m not sure I would want to see it, even if I could.”

“Would you like me to divine your future for you?” 

“Does it involve a handsome prince?” he asked softly.

“You think I’m handsome?” Dorian quirked an eyebrow, chuckling lightly. 

“Don’t be disgusting. You know you’re handsome.” 

“I was going to say it involves an evil necromancer  _ seducing _ a handsome prince. Turning him from his god and king and country with the sheer power of his personality.”

Rilienus laughed low. “The power of his  _ personality _ , is it?” he asked, his eyes lighting with mirth. “What manner of personality are we talking? The gentle one? The brilliant one? The mad hatter?”

“I rather thought you’d tell me,” Dorian’s eyes were wide, expectant, and sparkling with laughter. “Perhaps it’s the one that makes you throw me into empty rooms and against rooftops like a rabid beast.”

“I only throw you into empty rooms when you give me the look that tells me to do so. I refuse to take the entirety of the blame for the number of desks you’ve forced me to use for something other than their intended purpose.”

“I’ll bet you a thousand aurens that there isn’t a desk in this world that hasn’t been used for making love. It’s an important function of that particular piece of furniture. Do you disagree?”

“It’s certainly proven to be ergonomically favorable,” Rilienus murmured wryly.

“Oh? Is that a hint of dissatisfaction I sense?” Dorian ran a hand down the center of Rilienus’ robes. “We could try something else, since we’re already here. It would be a shame if we didn’t, really.”

“I do aspire to be shameless.” He tilted his head to the side, smirking. “What sort of experiment did you have in mind, my diviner?”

“Simulacra?” Dorian offered, his expression one of chaste curiosity with just a hint of mischief. “We were distracted from our work.”

Rilienus sighed ruefully, rolling his eyes. “I’ll just lay here, shall I? You can solve that and another six projects while I take a nap.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian nuzzled Rilienus’ nose with his own. “You think about the world in a way I could never imagine. We work well together. And you’ve more of a care for my self-preservation. I really shouldn’t have attempted that shapeshifting earlier. That plus everything else--I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a quarterstaff. I don’t think it’ll be much of a long term solution if I show up in your bed as weak as a newborn foal.”

“There’s an idea,” he chuckled. “I could do a number of interesting things to you if you were helpless to stop me.” He sighed against his cheek. “Although I would prefer a willing victim. And seeing you- the way you were today-” He kissed his cheek hard. “Let’s avoid that, if we can. If you want to keep working on your shifting, I can make you some decoctions. You can practice transitioning at a better pace.”

“Have I told you I love you recently?” Dorian said, brushing his cheek, his smile wide and warm. “I love you. I adore you. You’re a wonder and you’re wonderful. I would appreciate the help. But...” He chuckled, sitting up, still straddling Rilienus, palms splayed across his chest. “I was  _ joking  _ about the simulacra. For now, at least.”

“Oh?” Rilienus lifted a brow. “What happened to: ‘the work, we must complete the work’?”

“This morning I wasn’t lying on top of you and last night I was at least momentarily sated.” Dorian sighed dramatically, shifting his weight as though he meant to move off the bed. “But if you’re adamant, I suppose we could return to the library or start going through your notes here…”

Rilienus hooked an arm around his waist, dragging him back to the bed. “If you touch anything in this room, you’ll explode. It’s warded. Against teases.”

“Pfft,” Dorian snorted. “You’ll need to teach me that spell. I’ve a mind to use it on you.”

“I have excellent follow-through, thank you very much.”

“And I  _ don’t _ ? I’m offended.”

Rilienus shook his head, “Always looking at me when I can’t do anything about it.” He tutted softly, “Pursing your lips in that way that you do.” He traced his pinky along the curve of Dorian’s moustache, thumbing his lip. “The way you shift your hips on the bench at meals.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a dreadful tease.”

“A tease for allowing my eyes to fall on someone who has been sentenced to spend every waking hour with me? For being upset when you’re looking at me with that impassive stare? For trying to get comfortable on those awful benches?” Dorian snorted, leaning down lower, their lips nearly touching. “I don’t think I’m a tease. I just think you want to believe I am so that you don’t feel so helpless about how fond of me you are.”

“You may be correct. I do feel helpless,” he admitted quietly. “It’s a compulsion- loving you, wanting you. Terribly distracting. There are times I’m not entirely sure what class you’re in, but I know the sway of your hair at your neck and the flavor of your scent as it touches my tongue.” His eyes were green as new petals, the fleck of red making them appear all the warmer as he gazed up at him, his lips a waning moon. “And I am… exceedingly fond of you.”

This man. This damned, beautiful, spectacular man. Dorian felt lucky, blessed, for one of the first times in his life. For everything that was wrong with the Order, for as much as he wanted to leave, he had  _ this _ . 

If he could be careful. If he could keep it. If he hadn’t already destroyed their chance. 

“Then allow me to keep my teasing to a minimum when we’re alone.” Dorian murmured, caressing Rilienus’ cheek. “When we’re alone,  _ amatus _ , I’m yours. You have only but to ask.”

“What a terrible power to give someone so easily corrupted-” That damnable smirk. Those long, dexterous fingers opening the clasps of his robe. “What must I ask? For your hands? For your mouth? For your  _ personality _ ?” 

“For all of me, you ridiculous man,” Dorian rolled to his side to free his hands so that he could begin the reverential task of undressing Rilienus. “All the parts you like and a couple that drive you mad and a couple that make you want to bash me over the head. Anything and everything.” 

“I will take everything, with a dollop of anything, then,” Rilienus grinned, quick and sharp, tracking his movements. “Within reason.”

“Everything, hmm?” One clasp after another, cloth giving way to warm, unblemished skin. Down and down his fingers traveled, parting Rilienus’ robes to reveal him. His lips followed the trail left by his hands, kissing lines down his chest, running across the tangle of dark hairs that decorated him.

“Within reason,” Rilienus repeated archly. 

“Are you sure you can handle  _ everything _ , within reason?” Dorian looked up at him, brows raised in a silent challenge.

“I should very much like to try.” He skimmed his fingers over Dorian’s. “If you’re amenable.”

Amenable.  _ Amenable?  _ That Blighted smile, those Blighted eyes, that Blighted, thrice-damned tone of voice. And he asked about being amenable.

“Maker preserve me from your coquetry,” Dorian snorted, rolling his eyes. “And you said you weren’t a tease. Of course I’m  _ amenable _ . I’ll show you just how amenable I can be.”

“Wondrous.” Rilienus raked his gaze over him. “Exceedingly wondrous.”

“As much as I love being the subject of your visual attention, I must ask…” Dorian looked up at him with a crooked smile. “Are you intending to make love to me or just salivate over my half-naked body?”

“By no means,” he murmured, catching his lip between his teeth. “I’m intending to salivate over your  _ entirely _ naked body.”

“Then why is there still so much cloth?”

“Because you’re lazy, I’m assuming?” Rilienus folded his arms behind his head. “Your interest has passed. You no longer want me. It is a sad state of affairs.”

Dorian pursed his lips, pouting, eyes narrowed as he finished with the clasps that Rilienus had left untouched. He slipped the robe off of his shoulders, flinging it across the room and onto Rilienus’ desk, scattering a stack of papers. “Is  _ that  _ true? Perhaps you’ll need to pique my interest again,  _ amatus _ . I’m open to bribes.”

“Everyone’s a merchant,” he sighed, flicking a fond sweep of his gaze over his body. “What manner of bribe?”

“You expect me to tell you? Where’s the fun in that” Dorian laughed, gripping his waist. “I’m quite intrigued as to what you might offer.”

Rilienus lifted his brow, “Basic bargaining techniques, but very well. I shall offer you...“ he hummed quietly. “An hour.”

“Of  _ what _ , pray tell? Orlesian ballads?”

“Of whatever you choose, without restriction. Ballads, if you so wish.” He held up a finger. “One hour.”

“Two,” Dorian countered, his eyes still slitted, watching for any change in expression, any dropping of the mask. “Two hours. And I’ll try harder to hold my tongue in public.”

“So you’ll attempt it vaguely for the first time, then?” Rilienus tapped his fingers to his lips. “Two, you  _ will _ hold your tongue in public, and you will  _ practice _ spells before you go showing them off for your ducklings.”

“As you will, Dominus.” Dorian bit his bottom lip, the other corner raised in a cheeky grin. “When shall we begin?”

“At your discretion, Dominus.” He brushed his fingers down over the curve of his chin before letting his hand fall aimlessly the side. “I’ll throw in an extra twenty minutes if you stop questioning how much I adore you.”

“A stunning and surprising display of generosity!” Dorian bowed his head in deference, before extending his hand. “I accept.”

Rilienus took his hand and squeezed. “By Her Light.”

Dorian released his hand and pinned him to the bed by his shoulders, dropping his head to kiss him feverishly, nipping at his bottom lip. He slid his hand behind Rilienus’ head to lift him, deepening the kiss, feeling the buzzing of desire fill him to his core. “Can I still  _ hear  _ how much you adore me or is that too close to questioning?” Dorian murmured against his lips, smiling at the feel of Rilienus’ scruff against his skin. “I do so love compliments.”

“Maker preserve us, I wouldn’t starve you of your main source of sustenance,” he grinned, nipping back at him. “I’m a monster, not an animal.”

“You’re not that either,” Dorian said, looking cross. “Now I’m thinking we should’ve started with the ballads.”

“I don’t mind,” he touched Dorian’s cheek. “Fear is far more useful than pity.”

“But love is stronger than both.” Dorian sighed, leaning up on his elbows to look at him. “Now, would you mind providing me with a demonstration of your ardor? Or shall we continue this pedantry?”

“I do so enjoy the pedantry…” He was making a show of it, the rascal. “Decisions, decisions…” He peered up from beneath his lashes, smirking, trailing his fingers down the line of Dorian’s neck and over his shoulder. “Oh, very well. This once.” He nipped at the air between him, “Oh no! It appears that I’m trapped...”

Dorian was dying. Positively dying. His spirit was leaving his body and floating across the Veil, off into the unknown. Rilienus was a devil, a demon, a dreadful living snake bent on twisting him into knots and bending him over backwards and wrapping his legs around his neck to strangle him. 

A tease, he’d said. A bloody, Blighted tease. And there he sat, coy and clever and as lovely as the moon, all smirks and sideways glances and sneaky subterfuge and smoke. How could he possibly hope to capture the mist? The fog? How could he possibly gain an edge on a wheel that just spun him around and around until he wasn’t sure of the difference between the sky and the grass. 

“And you get to stay trapped, if you keep being so mouthy,” Dorian said, sitting up and sliding his fingers down, past his ribcage, lower, to the lining of his breeches. He yanked them to his thighs unceremoniously, frustrated and fuming. Dorian felt the growing line in his smalls, caressing, exploring, looking at him with a crooked grin. He pressed a thumb to his belly and sent a jolt of lightning through him, a buzz, a drop of power, just enough to make his toes curl and the hair on his legs stand upright. “Now tell me,  _ amatus _ , what I should attend to first?”

Rilienus shivered beneath his touch, lowering his gaze. “Dorian,” he brushed his fingers down his arm. “I- what do you want?”

“All on me then?” Dorian chuckled, grinning widely. “I suppose I should’ve expected as much. You’re only serpentine while your breeches are still on.” He sat up, considering, tapping his chin with a slender, manicured finger. “What  _ do _ I want? An interesting question. I’m so rarely asked.” Dorian stroked along Rilienus’ side, light as a feather, making him wriggle. “Ah! I know. I’d very much like to spend every moment of that two and a half hours you’ve so kindly offered lingering over you like a fine, fragrant wine, sipping from your chalice until I’m drunk off of you.” Dorian met those sharp, green eyes, widened with anticipation. “Worship. I’m going to worship you. I intend to love you like you’ve always deserved.  _ Amenable _ ?”

He purred. The terrible man actually purred like a cat, a low vibration rolling through his skin and out of his throat as he arched under Dorian’s touches. “Dorian,” he whispered, the calluses of his fingertips doing wonderful, awful things as he reached for him. “Yes,” he dabbed his tongue to his lips. “Yes, that’s amenable.”   
  


##  Rilienus

The panes of stained glass that remained in his window were yellow. 

Over a decade, he’d spent days and nights peering out through it, wondering what wonders might lay outside the Circle. Or admiring the bulbed minarets and spiked towers that made up Minrathous’ skyline. Or watching the Nocen Sea disappear against cliffs he’d never seen, but always imagined; he could hear on quiet days, lapping at the rough stone, and hear them crash and roar in the midst of storms. He could hear the city, too, sometimes- or thought he could. The bells of the High Chantry, certainly. But smaller noises as well. The occasional rabble of chatter and music on feast days when the Order of Argent maintained strict codes of silence. 

The panes were yellow, though. They always had been. And he had wondered at what image they might have once portrayed, before the castle had been claimed as a place of education and worship. When it had been in the thick of the battles against the Qun. 

It might yet be. That was what they were told. Why they were made to maintain its walls and their own strict discipline. They were, every one of them, every citizen of the Imperium, an army in waiting.

The window hadn’t housed its soft colors long, or there would be a spirit that remembered their form and shape. Days, perhaps weeks, it had existed as something beautiful for whoever had used this room, before it had been destroyed by gatlak. The char marks remained on the wall outside and the times he’d wandered back through time and memory, he’d only seen the glass shattering. Over and over. Destruction. Pain. Heartbreak for what was lost without the memory of what that might have been. 

But there had been yellow. He’d thought.

And yet. 

As Dorian moved over him, the light through those yellow panes gilded; it was new and halcyon, bent and shuddering as Rilienus was, himself. His love. His lover. Slow and sweet as melting caramel. Against- no.  _ With _ him. Art in motion, silkwater and velvetskin. 

His hands were as honeyed and soft as nubuck sueded leather, cascading over Rilienus’ skin, warming him until he thought he might expire from touch alone. Just touch. Just the care in those palms. Palms that could draw lightning from air or coil horrors from the depths like smoke. There was power in those palms, in those hands, in Dorian.

And yet.

His fingertips summoned dewed pleasure from Rilienus’ flesh. His whiskers left a trail of whispering kisses in their wake, a gentle echo of his lips. Aureate, lingering, sonorous murmurs that softened him like gold flake and molded him around Dorian’s body as surely as the myriad rings that adorned their hands. Amulets and charms disguised among baubles. 

“ _ Amatus _ .” A word whispered behind a waterfall. As supple and silky as those hands, shifting, resounding, a symphony circumscribed in that one word. That the endearment could be meant for  _ him  _ was still a marvel, every utterance a new and wonderful surprise. 

“Rilienus, darling,” Dorian breathed his name, so that the subject of his attention couldn’t be mistaken. “ _ Mon rossignol _ , my nightingale, my love, would you mind turning over for me? Onto your stomach,  _ amatus _ , yes, like that.” 

Rilienus flipped over lazily, rumpled sheets under the soft flesh of his stomach, every fiber in stark resolution. 

“Let me know if it’s too much pressure, or not enough, or if a particular area feels good, or if another one tickles.” Dorian’s voice vibrated against his skin, his whiskers brushing too-warm flesh like butterfly wings. Rilienus could scarcely bring himself to nod, muttering his muffled assent into the pillow.

A tug from the Fade and Dorian’s fingers were on his shoulders, the slow burn of fire from his kneading fingertips slowly loosening the muscles of his shoulder, making his jaw slacken into the feathery down of the bed. 

“Tension, too much tension,” Dorian chuckled, a sound as welcome as warm summer rain. “I wonder why? My doing, at least some of it. You need a specialist,  _ amatus _ , but I’ll do what I can. Do you happen to have any elfroot salve? Perhaps mixed with embrium? It would be a great help.”

Rilienus glanced back over his shoulder on a sigh, lifting his left hand. “The ring with the emerald,” he murmured, feeling drowsy and roused at once. “‘Et Aliis’ opens the pocket. I keep it stocked, for when-” he let his head fall back to the bed. “Well. You know.”

He felt the ring slide off his finger and Dorian spoke the words quietly. Rilienus could hear a light clinking of glass as he rummaged for the appropriate ointment. A few moments later he was holding a vial filled with a thin, olive paste. “Just to make sure I’m not coating your body with deathroot. Does it look right?”

Rilienus shook his head, chuckling. “You’re so good at so many things.” He rolled to his side and wiggled his fingers. “Give that back, please.” He collected the vial and leaned up to tuck into the space that was sliced by the spell. “Here,” he collected a full-bottomed vial of murky vermillion. “Embrium is red,” he reminded him lightly, kissing his cheek. “And you’re beautiful.” 

He slipped the ring back on his finger and whistled the gap in the air closed. “You’d like alchemy if you tried it. It’s all maths and permutations.”

“Glad I asked,” Dorian replied sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “I probably would enjoy it… but why spend the time learning when I could ask you,  _ mon rossignol _ ? I need at least a couple of skills I haven’t mastered. To keep me humble.”

“‘Keep’ implies that you are, or ever were,” he smirked. Oh, ruffling him was… ecstasy. As was the sight of his hair askew from his hand. And the slight mashing of that moustache from his kisses. And his lips, his hands, his- Rilienus breathed low, nuzzling Dorian’s cheek as he felt the slow as honey ache seeping through him. “I am very appreciative of many of your mastered skills,  _ mon aube _ .”

“Yes, yes, so very appreciative,” Dorian chuckled, uncorking the bottle. “Lie back on your stomach, then, and allow me to work.”

He kissed him gently, collapsing back to the bed. “See. Learn. This is what obedience looks like.”

“Not sure you’d like me if I were obedient. Well, perhaps if I listened to  _ you _ , it might be acceptable.” The spicy herbal scent of pressed embrium filled the air of the small castle room as Dorian worked the concoction onto his fingers. Dorian’s hands on his skin again, warm from mana and embrium and just being  _ alive _ . He focused on Rilienus’ shoulders, straddling him, gradually increasing the pressure until he was applying his entire weight to the endeavor. “Can you play that harp without touching it, amatus? I feel we could use a bit of music.”

Rilienus hummed under his breath. “Possibly. But you have to promise not to be too critical. I’ve been following some troublemaker around instead of practicing.” He stretched his senses towards the corner, feeling the familiar strings and the patterns inherent in them from years of focus, mana flowing through his fingers as he played away frustrations and fury. He chose one of those memories, one of the quieter ones, and whistled his wishes into the pattern to awaken it. Slowly, the strings began to vibrate, one by one, shaping themselves into the memory. “Suitable?”

Dorian bent to kiss him on the back of the neck, stopping to nibble on the corner of his ear. “You’re an artist, and again I’m impressed--caramel colored, of course, before you ask. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone capable of both containing and orchestrating such beauty.”

He shut his eyes, focusing on the feel of Dorian’s hands and the warmth of his words. Beauty. Perhaps. Among other things. “I’m glad you enjoy it,” he murmured. “It’s… nice to be seen.”

“I doubt it’s as nice as the incredible gift of being the one who sees you,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian’s hands slid lower, between his shoulder blades, pausing and pressing against regions of knotted muscle. “You bartered with me, to keep me from doubting your affections? What would you ask of me to assure me that you’ll stop doubting mine?”

He felt his lips twitch with humor. How much had he laughed in the last week? How much had he felt the desire to smile, actually smile? When had been the last time he’d felt this happy? This… free. He licked his lips. “What would you offer?”

“Damnit,” Dorian laughed, pinching his side. “Using my tricks against me?”

“I like to win. That seems to be the way to do it.”

“ _ Gods _ , the flattery. Again and again with the flattery. What am I to do with you?” Hands at the small of his back, fingers splayed out against his spine. “Fine, you’re really getting the best of me though.  _ First _ , you somehow twisted me into telling you I’d behave.”

“In public.”

“Right. Yes.  _ Second _ , you barred me from experimenting with unfamiliar magic.”

“Without care and preparation.”

“I read a paragraph, is that not enough preparation for you, oh wise one? At least I didn’t improvise.”

“You’ve found me out,” Rilienus murmured. “I’m greedy and selfish and I want to keep you in one piece. So that I can eat you whole.”

“You’re a delight, just a damned delight. Perhaps I’ll allow you.” Dorian hooked a finger underneath the fabric of his smalls and dragged them down past his feet. He cupped the silken flesh of his ass, pressing the base of his hand deeply, gripping him almost roughly. “Let’s see… Forget hours, I’ll give you an entire day. And you’re not allowed to doubt my love for you, even for a fleeting moment, ever again.”

“Maker’s breath, a day? A whole day? Of what exactly?”

“That’s your puzzle to solve,  _ mon rossignol _ .” Dorian snorted, squeezing him. “No restrictions. Poetry, if you like. A full day of poetry. I’ll feed you grapes and read you sonnets.”

“Anything I want?” Rilienus asked, lifting his hips, pressing back into Dorian’s hands. “Anything at all? No restrictions?”

“No channeling. And I’m not turning you into a walking corpse, either.”

“Damn you.”

“Tell you what, I’ll let you have a bit, if that’s what you want. I’ll need to put up barriers though. It made you a little…”

“Mad?” he asked, peering back over his shoulder. “Yes, barriers and wards, by all means. I’ll work on a few, as well, now that I know what to expect. But then?”

“Fine, but if you go batty again, it’ll be the last time, for certain.” Dorian sighed, kissing his upper thigh. “I’d like you to maintain use of your faculties.”

“Sneaky minx.” Rilienus pushed back towards him, grinning. “I thought you rather enjoyed destroying my faculties, tarnishing my medals, imbuing me with your spirit. No?”

“If you think you can flatter and flirt your way into me giving you more power, you’re sadly very mistaken.”

“Give me time,” he murmured, meeting Dorian’s gaze with a slow smile. “Just time.”

“You’re a dangerous man, Rilienus Maecilia. Dangerous and tricky. I’d better watch my step or I’ll slip into one of your traps.”

“You haven’t seen one of them. Not yet.” He reached back, brushing his fingers down Dorian’s chest. “No tricks or traps, Dorian. Not for you. Wit, though,” he rolled his eyes. “Wit and affection. A little trust. And when you know me better… We’ll see.”

“ _ Ugh _ , all of these honeyed words are making me want to kiss you. I think that must be your intention. But no.” Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder, stealing a kiss on the nape of Rilienus’ neck despite his words. “Lay back down. I’m not finished with you.”

“Stop making me want to kiss you then,” Rilienus muttered under his breath, laying back down. “You could be slightly less wonderful. You could try.”

“Perish the thought. I like you when you’re angling to kiss me. Even if it’s inconvenient.” Dorian chuckled, swinging his leg over the side of the bed. Rilienus could hear the shuffling of furniture as Dorian picked up the chair to his desk and shifted it so it was nearly touching the bed. “Are your feet ticklish? Do you even know?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t  _ want _ to know. What are you up to?”

“I suppose we’ll find out then, eh? If you collapse into a fit of laughter, we’ll have our answer.” Dorian sat on the chair and poured more embrium lotion into his hands. He began to rub it into Rilienus’ foot, pressing against the sole, the calluses on his toes and his heel, fingers applying a steady pressure to his skin. “Isn’t it obvious? Have you never gotten a massage before? I get to touch your entire body and help you relax. And Maker knows, you could use a bit of that.”

Rilienus lifted a brow - or tried, rather. The pressure of Dorian’s thumbs was doing strange things to the muscles throughout his body. “That’s-“ he swallowed, flattening out on the bed with a sigh. “Hmm?”

“Pleasant?”

He tried to speak, but what emerged was something of a hum crossed with a moan. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dorian said, laughing. “I like it too, you know. Being able to touch you for as long as I like, unfettered, to take my time with you, fully appreciate all that you are. A magical thing, indeed.”

Dorian’s words washed over him like the froth of a wave as he was pulled under. His voice kept the water warm and soothing. And Rilienus felt his back start to flex and release, just from the pressure of Dorian’s fingers on his feet. He blinked hard, trying to focus, to pay attention to where he was touching, but it was just… too… good.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you happened to fall asleep, darling,” Dorian’s voice was warm, melted caramel, dripping over his body, bathing him in heat and sugar. “ I’ll wake you up when I’m done, if that happens.” 

“Mmhmm,” he sighed, flexing his foot in Dorian’s hand. “That’s- very good.” He pressed his lips together and peered over at him. “You know I don’t want you to bend, don’t you? I like you as you are.”

“Bend? In what way should I not be bending in particular?”

“Obey. Change. I don’t want them to change you.”

Dorian pressed a kiss to the back of Rilienus’ ankle, smiling against his skin, the hairs of his mustache tickling. “Nineteen years and not a soul has managed to change me. It’d be a miracle if they managed it.”

“It’s the Order of Argent. They deal in miracles.” Rilienus bit his lip, “I’m not saying they can. I’m saying- I’m trying to tell you, I don’t want you to. I want you to learn to pretend. That’s all.”

“Maker, I’m going to be a terrible Magister if I can’t figure out how to fool a bunch of Chantry zealots.” Dorian sighed, nuzzling against his calf. “You’re probably right. It’s an opportunity for me to learn from the best. I should seize it. Besides, it would make you happy.”

“It would.” He traced the curves of Dorian’s face with his gaze. His cheeks, his lips, his chin, his ears. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this isn’t just to teach that one lesson. It’s the one I’ve learned the best since I’ve been here. How to disguise everything. Every action, every part of me, tucking everything behind something else. Layers on layers. I want you to see all of that, all those things I’ve tucked away. And I want to help you hide your light, so they don’t try to crush it. Or take it. Maker, I worry they’ll try to take it from you, make it their own.”

“ _ Take _ it from me?” Dorian’s voice echoed in the still room, drowning out the harp playing softly in the corner. “Take what, my magic? What are you saying?”

“If they take your will, they can take your magic. If they decide they want to.” He leaned up on his elbows, watching him solemnly. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“They--you’re saying they enthrall people?” He felt Dorian’s grip loosen. “That they might use blood magic to try and control me?”

“I’m saying they have all the relevant texts, materials, and experience on hand to do so.” He studied Dorian’s face. Pale. He hadn’t meant to scare him, hadn’t meant to do anything more than reassure him, but- it was frightening. What was possible. What might be. What he suspected. “I don’t have any proof they have. I only… They’ve done things, all manner of inventive techniques, to curb and control and manipulate. And when those fail… they somehow always still succeed.”

“They won’t succeed,” Dorian’s voice was sharp, resolute. “I can’t afford to let anyone control me. You felt what I am. How my powers  _ whisper  _ in your mind until they’re all you think of _.  _ It’s  _ dangerous _ .”

“I know.”

“Don’t let them, Ril. If they try to control me like that- Maker, I’m not going to let them. They’ll have to fiddle with my burned out corpse.”

“Don’t give them cause,” Rilienus sat up, reaching a hand for him. “No burned out corpses. No fiddling. If there’s to be a corpse, it should be me. You can bring me back.” He smiled, brows lifting, trying to find the starlight in Dorian’s eyes again. “I don’t want to lose you. And neither should the world. You’ve a destiny, remember.”

“No dying. No corpses. I hope the only time I have to use necromancy here was  _ once  _ in the dueling hall.” Dorian sighed against him, his cheek resting against the inside of Rilienus’ thigh. “Perhaps I don’t want a destiny. Perhaps I’ll just wait out my time until you’re released and we can buy a castle by the sea somewhere and feed each other plums until we’re fat off of them.” 

Rilienus opened his mouth, started to remind him that that was not at all how destinies worked, but he rested his fingers on the back of Dorian’s neck instead. Breathed. “I’d like that,” he said instead, quietly, while the harp played a remembered song. “I’d like that very much.”


	13. Fast-fading violets cover’d up in leaves (*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to nonconsensual sensory deprivation

## Dorian

Filing into the mess hall, a hundred heads, two hundred eyes, sorting themselves into their designated places. 

A room made of butterscotch, a harp humming wistful, longing melodies. 

The Praetor was saying something.

A voice, welcome, murmuring in his ear, hands tracing along his spine. 

The prefects table was empty, the Praeceptor absent.

Promises of eschewing destiny, of freedom, of self-sufficiency.

A spoon of cool yogurt on his tongue, sweetened with fruit and honey. A rare treat from the Order, a celebration of a student passing their examinations. Walking through the doors as a fully-fledged Enchanter.

The lull of his lover’s breaths as they slipped together, in and out of dreaming. 

An entire afternoon they’d had, to study or make love, and Dorian and Rilienus had wound up doing precious little of either. Gentle caresses instead of heated clutching. Relaxation instead of rapture. A more insidious, perilous form of rebellion. Entirely unanticipated. Unbelievably welcome.

Words, Rilienus had said, were meaningless. Meaningless, unimportant drivel. And yet they’d said so many of them in such a short time. Vows. Requests. Confessions. It seemed his lover had become an eager convert to the power of language.

A familiar tap on his shoulder roused him from his reverie. Lethina had taken a place at his side, Erend across from him, and the siblings Savine and Jekeb on either side of him. Savine was twisting a finger, fabricating a whirlpool in her cup of tea to dissolve her hearty amount of sugar.

“There’s a buzz around the castle. Maecilia really gave it to you, didn’t he?” Lethina had recently taken to wearing a black and red speckled rose in her hair, from one of the plants she’d managed to breed in botany. She was speaking loudly enough to be overheard, one of her new tactics. “Linaea and Crissa said as much. Hovering over you like a tower outside of the dorms. I told them about the library. How you deliberately _disobeyed_ and the prefect marched you off right after he dealt with Emilia.”

Dorian sighed, turning back to his breakfast. “Not the best of days, no. Who is Emilia?”

“Toad girl,” Erend interjected. “She’s back to normal, but it took the shifters most of the day to get her to stop lunging after bugs. Botched. It was botched. She hadn’t had time to set up wards to maintain her identity.”

“She’s lucky she’s not still hopping around the garden, honestly,” Savine added absently. “Poor thing. I heard they were thinking of sending her home, at least for a few weeks, to get her bearings back.”

“No way,” Erend snorted, shaking his head. “No way the Praetor will even _tell_ her parents what happened. They’ll try and keep it quiet. Don’t want to seem like they’ve lost control.”

“Well, at least you don’t have Bana,” Lethina added, her voice modulated so only their companions could hear. “He’s a devil. Maecilia is bad enough, but at least he’s mostly just bored. Not purposefully cruel.”

“He’s an ass, just like the rest of them, but it could be worse.”

Dorian spooned another bite of his breakfast, not saying anything. 

“And he hates the Eye. Wants it off you more than you do, probably.” Lethina continued, whispering. “We’re going to make sure you don’t get assigned another prefect. If the Praeceptor finds out what he lets you get away with-”

“I’m trying to behave,” Dorian sighed again, reaching for his tea. “Really. I’m going to.”

Jekeb snorted and Sevine rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Shields today, Dorian?” Erend asked hopefully. “I didn’t want to ask, but…”

Dorian smiled, chuckling, grateful for a change in topic. “Certainly. After classes.”

The Prefects filing back inside signaled that the bells would ring soon to send them off into the day. Rilienus was stiff and inexpressive among them as a few made quick, quiet jokes. Bana’s laugh echoed through the dining hall. 

Rilienus never seemed entirely at ease after his meetings with the Praeceptor, but by the end of Dorian’s swim, he’d usually shaken off whatever added tension the morning had brought in. Or replaced it with a different kind of tension. The kind where he was struggling not to smile. Or, better, struggling not to drag Dorian off to some hidden corner of the Tower he knew so well. 

“Prefects laughing,” Sevine noted suspiciously, her gaze flitting across the line. “Never bodes well for the rest of us.”

 _Rarely_ , Dorian wanted to correct, the bell finally chiming, signaling the end of their meal. 

Rilienus was a specter. Not a single snide comment or complaint after having to sit in the heat, pretending to read while Dorian swam. His skin had taken on a slight pallor, his brow knotted, his lips a thin line. Dorian wanted to find a way to sneak off, to find a secret place where he could wrap him in a blanket and run his hands along the small of his back until Ril was ready to talk. 

There was no time. The bells for the first day’s class rang. Staffwork. Dorian didn’t force himself upon the other man, allowing Rilienus to partner with a skinny, tawny haired young man, while Dorian took his place across from Sevine. 

She was far less talkative than Lethina or Erend, her smiles rare and far between during their bouts. The tiniest curl of her lips when she landed a blow. The handled her staff with a smooth elegance, her movements graceful and measured, not a speck of energy misplaced in the transference of potential to kinetic energy. Her strength came not from power or speed, but the ability to consistently manipulate Dorian out of balance, fumbling for an instant, and then she landed her attack. 

She rebuffed every attempt he made at conversation and he was forced to devote his entire attention to her movements, to avoid leaving the class horribly bruised. 

Classes passed much like the beginning of the morning, with no time to catch Rilienus and ask what had happened. Rilienus still hadn’t completely regained his color, but the exercise seemed to have at least distracted him somewhat. Pale whiskey and wide, green eyes. 

Dorian had been trailed by the others during and after lunch, with no chance to speak with him, but the bell signaling the end of Praestigia had just sounded. He dispelled his illusions, gathering the dust from spent crystals into vials and slipping them into the cabinet at the back of the classroom. 

The final Blighted class of the day was finally over. Usually he enjoyed his coursework; for all of its faults, the Order _did_ put a strong emphasis on education. Many of the students had talent, too, and unconventional ways of utilizing magic, ones that he’d never seen in Carastes or Vyrantium or any of the other Circles he’d visited. More experimentation and improvisation - a strange paradox given the restrictive nature of the school. 

He slung his satchel over his shoulder and followed the gaggle of students out of the room, making his way to one of the main courtyards, with a grassy space large enough to practice shielding. Erend and the others had agreed to meet him there before dinner to begin their training. 

Dorian spared a glance towards Rilienus, a questioning look on his face as they stepped onto the sunny yard. Lethina and Erend were still nowhere to be seen- Illusions was the closest classroom to the courtyard and Lethina was particularly slow at pulling her things together. He sighed, settling down in the shade of an old, gnarled tree, leaning back, trying to keep his eyes from shifting to where Rilienus waited, silent and stiff as a statue. 

He heard the bray of Bana’s laughter down the corridor and glanced towards it. Out of the shade, a short young man padded into the courtyard at a measured pace, followed by Bana and another of the Prefects and a couple of the blue bands. He wore a heavy set of black beads around his neck and wrists, his expression as absent and empty as Rilienus’- No. There was- an emptiness in him that went beyond expression. A stiltedness to his walk and his arms as he walked directly to Rilienus and stopped. 

“Prefect,” he almost sang- his voice modulated in a strange tone, “There is no need to be alarmed. It is better this way. You remember, do you not?”

Rilienus jerked back from him, glancing past him to where Bana was cackling on and on. His nostrils flared, and he looked back to the young man, resting a hand on his shoulder and whispering something quietly. 

“But I do not want it to end. I am at peace. I am with the Maker.”

The Chain. Rilienus had mentioned that the Praeceptor had wished to use it on _him,_ that only Rilienus’ intervention had spared Dorian from being made temporarily Tranquil. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the ring of Prefects and blue bands. 

The hollowness in that voice chilled him to the core, shivering in places he hadn’t known could feel cold. To be so cut off from his will that the man didn’t even want to remove his burden was a horror he’d not seen before. Tranquil mages were rare in the Imperium, only reserved for extreme cases, most criminals preferring execution. 

Dorian could understand why. The boy wasn’t a mage any longer. He was a puppet, voiceless and opinionless, every movement involuntary. 

He met Bana’s eyes, giving him a slight nod, trying to hide the disgust from his face. “My lord Prefect, would you mind explaining the nature of your joke? I’ve only been here a short while and I’ve always been told my sense of humor was lacking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved Dorian off with a lazy gesture, his lips curled in a bright - almost too bright - smile. “You just keep minding that Eye and behaving for everyone’s favorite, you won’t have to see the other side of those beads, hmm?”

It was evident that the entire affair was part of a cruel demonstration, and Rilienus was the butt of it. Dorian wanted to distract them, to pull their attention away from him, give him long enough to recover if he needed it.

“But wouldn’t _knowing_ be such a delicious deterrent?” Dorian smiled, despite the nauseating feeling in his stomach, quirking an eyebrow. “Please, Prefect? I must admit you’ve piqued my interest.”

“Well, I’ll tell you a little story I heard about a young upstart who-”

Rilienus lifted his head. “I’ve got a job to do, Bana. As do you. If you attempt to undermine my authority with my charge, I will have words with the Praeceptor. Then we’ll see what happens to whom.” 

“Oh, but Maecilia, I’m just answering a question from a plebe. I’m being helpful. Spreading the word. Surprised he doesn’t know, but I guess it’s a sore subject, eh?”

“Alright, Plenex. You’ve done your task. You can go back to your studies now.”

“Thank you, Prefect. I would prefer to study.”

“Go on, then.” Rilienus glanced towards the young man as he walked calmly off down the corridor, then glanced back to Bana. “It’s a punishment, you imbecile. He isn’t here for your amusement.”

“Who’s the imbecile? They took you out of basic thaumaturgy because you were useless. You’re useless, Maecilia. The only reason the Praeceptor keeps you around is to get his boots licked.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, tucking his hands at the base of his spine. “You should focus on your service to the Order and to Andraste. Enjoy your time while it lasts; the Praeceptor doesn’t take kindly to braggarts and show-offs. Your reminder to that lesson just walked away.” He turned to Dorian, but his gaze remained sealed off like a gate. “I have work to do. You’ll follow.”

“As you will, Prefect.” 

“You’ve got everyone scared of you,” Bana smiled sharply as Rilienus turned to go. “You don’t scare me. I know what you are. You remember that.”

“I barely remember your name.” Rilienus paused at the corner, “No one else will either.”

He walked slowly down the corridor, his footfalls landing heavy on the marble. His thumb lightly rotating the ring on his middle finger was the only sign that he felt any restlessness. He hesitated when they’d crossed the main courtyard and reached the crossroads between the classrooms and the library. “I can leave you in the library if you need the time to study,” he said stiffly. 

“I don’t, but thank you for asking.” Dorian said tentatively. “Do you need me to?”

“I need to be somewhere else, preferably in shadow,” he breathed shallowly. “I don’t want to inhibit your work.”

“Shadow suits my work just as well,” Dorian replied softly. “If you don’t mind my presence.”

He closed his eyes for a beat, then peered across the courtyard the way they’d come. “As you will. Follow.” 

They trailed past classrooms and down a flight of stairs until Rilienus stopped at a familiar wooden door and nudged it open, peeling his ward from his wrist as he did. Dorian watched him set the ward carefully on top of a barrel and listened to the unsteady whistle as he cast. The room lit briefly with silver stands of light, the door latched, and the mage sank to one of the prayer benches, lowering his head to his hands. He stayed like that, bowed and silent, as the minutes ticked past, infinitesimal vibrations against Dorian’s wrist.

Dorian took his place beside him, placing a hand lightly on his thigh. “Ril? It’s okay. They won’t hurt you again, _amatus_.”

“You don’t know that,” he whispered. “You don’t-” He pressed his fist to his lips, his eyes shut tight. “You don’t know and I never want you to.”

Dorian wrapped his arms around him, kissing his temple. “I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t. Not Bana or the Praeceptor or the Archon himself.”

“No, Dorian. No.” His arms snaked around him in answer, “You have to take care of yourself. You have to protect yourself. For me. You have to promise.”

Dorian sighed, leaning his head against Rilienus’ shoulder, breathing him in. “I promise to try. I do. I will. I—I don’t think I fully understood what you rescued me from.”

“He’s got it for three days. I only had it for two. Maker knows what-” He swallowed audibly, burying his face in Dorian’s hair. “It’s worse, coming out the other side, seeing what you- what you can become.”

“It’s cruel. I can’t imagine what you went through. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like.” Dorian nuzzled against him. “Ril, I’m afraid. For you, for me, for the both of us.”

“Yes.” There was so much tension in his arms, in his back- tension Dorian had spent hours working out the day before until he was molten beside him, soft and sweet as the bud of a flower. They’d torn that tenderness out of him again. 

“What will they do to us if they find out?” Dorian began to run a hand across his back, smoothing the fabric of his robe. “What are we up against?”

“That I’m lying about the Eye, that we’re sleeping together, or that you’re housing a power unlike anything I could have dreamed?” he asked quietly. “It’s all disloyalty and betrayal, isn’t it? Deceiving the Order, weakening the throne.” Rilienus’ lips moved against his hair, exhaling unsteady puffs of warmth. “I don’t know what they’ll do, Dorian. Not entirely. I won’t see you again, I know that much. We are not the first lovers to exist under the Order’s gaze. They’re not always caught but when they are… I don’t know. Something changes. I don’t know what it is, exactly.”

Dorian felt his heart drop like a stone to his feet. “Fasta vass, what do you mean ‘changes’?”

“They stop seeing each other. I mean, they stop _seeing_ each other. I don’t know what else the Order does, or how they do it precisely, or what happens when they leave here. But it’s-” He frowned. “And your father would probably have me killed.”

“No,” Dorian shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, no, Ril, he couldn’t. Maker, no. He wouldn’t do that, it would be—“

“If he can set the Praeceptor after you,” he shook his head. “Honestly, what do you think he’s going to do to the murderer who’s corrupted you? We’d be lucky if he killed me and shut the whole Blighted Order down. At least then you would be free. And they wouldn’t have a chance to show me how dissatisfied they were with being misled for years. I’m certain that won’t be pleasant.”

Dorian clung to him, arms tightening around him protectively, giving and drawing strength. “They won’t find out. They can’t. Nobody can. And if they do—“

“Then what?” he kissed the top of his head. “It doesn’t matter. Do you understand that it doesn’t matter to me? It doesn’t matter what they do to me, they can’t take this away - that I’ve had this time with you. Even if I can’t remember it, even if I can’t see you again, I’ll have had that. Something good out of this place. And I’ll be in your memory. And that’s good. That’s more than I dreamed of.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Dorian’s voice was strained, his vision blurring. “I told you, I won’t let anything happen to you. I meant it. I won’t let them take you from me. _Anyone_ . I will not let them hurt you. You’re being selfish, _amatus_ , because if they hurt you, then I’ll have to live with the knowledge that it was entirely my fault. And my father—if he—if he tries—I will destroy him.”

“You won’t. And it isn’t your fault, whatever happens. None of it is. I’ve a mark on me, Dorian. You know that. The chances that my act here will make any difference when I’m released are middling at best. It’s alright.” His fingers brushed under his chin, lifting his face. “It’s alright,” he lifted his brows. “You. What matters is you.” He kissed his cheek gently. “You are bright and terrible. You have to keep on being just that. And bring me back,” he laughed wryly. “So I can stab someone in the Magisterium.”

“Ugh, I’m still not particularly fond of the implications of that plan, Ril.” Dorian turned his cheek to meet his lips. “Stay alive. I’ll be good. We’ll get out of here. You’ll put an end to your uncle. And then—I don’t know—I’ll do some research into golems and give my father a puppet to sit on his seat while we fuck off to Antiva to drink wine and dance all night and sleep in until noon.”

“Only noon?” Rilienus asked; his lips were warm and soft, his beard a scratch to his chin, catching his moustache and tugging gently. “Mid-afternoon and you’ve sold me.”

“Done, without reservation.” Dorian nuzzled against his nose. “We’ll be fine. We have to be. There’s no other option. I love you and I won’t accept anything less.”

“As you will,” he murmured, gathering him close to kiss him until they were both breathless. Rilienus lifted his head, concern in his eyes as he licked his lips. “Dorian- whatever happens, wherever we wind up-” His lips curved, twisting, “Just know that I adore you.”

“We already agreed to this, yesterday. You gave me two hours.”

“I’m serious. I wouldn’t give up a moment of you. Of us. Of this. Not for anything.” His eyes were shadowed where the kohl had smudged around them, bright new-leaf green in a sea of black. “Don’t let that hurt you. Don’t let anything hurt you. When you go, take what you can and leave the rest.” He smoothed his thumbs over his cheeks. “Promise?”

“ _No_!” Dorian’s voice echoed through the empty room. “I don’t want to leave anymore. How can I, now?”

“How?” he asked, sniffing with a wry smile. “Force of will, I’d assume.” 

“I can’t promise that, Ril. Please don’t ask it of me.” He knelt, taking hold of Rilienus’ hands in his own. “Come with me. We can both escape together. You shouldn’t be here. We could both be free.”

“That would be a wonderful idea. I’ve always relished the idea of spending every moment looking over my shoulder for the knife that was steadily coming at my back. Such a novel experience that would be.” Rilienus kissed his knuckles. “Not just my uncle’s, but the Magistrate’s, too? And Magister Pavus? Brilliant. You truly are a genius.”

“You’re an ass.” Dorian turned and leaned his head against Rilienus’ legs, wanting to sink into the floor. There was no way out. No way to emerge victorious. He was trapped—they both were. “Their reach only extends so far. There has to be somewhere safe. I can’t just leave you here. It would kill me just as surely as any knife.”

“You can leave, and you will. If it seems that they’ve caught on. To us. To you. To your power. If it’s a question of you getting out of here in one piece, then you go. No hesitation.” He smoothed his hand against the back of his neck. Warm, smooth palms. Long, agile fingers with their calluses at tips. A touch that was becoming so familiar, so quickly. “Can’t go to Antiva if we’re both destroyed, can we?”

“You’re dreadful. Positively dreadful. I’m going to be angry with you over this for ages.” Dorian sighed, his body slackening. “But I promise. If I have to go, I’ll go. For you. But you’ll owe me once you’re on the other side.”

“Will I? What?”

“It depends on how long I have to wait, _mon rossignol_.” He tilted his head backwards to see Rilienus’ face. “I intend to collect interest.”

“Do,” he bent to press his forehead to Dorian’s. “Do. I’ll happily pay whatever debt you require, in labor.”

“I will. Maker knows I will. I’ll lock you in my bedroom with me for a month, maybe two. And then we can see the world.” 

“A decent offer.” He nipped at Dorian’s lips, “Perhaps I could make a small down payment. As a show of good faith.” He slid off the bench, winding his arms around Dorian and nudging him back onto the floor. “Gods old and new, I love you.”

“Whatever happened to that self-preservation you’re always talking about?” Dorian laughed, trying to forget, to live for the moment instead of what seemed an inevitable future. “It seems you’ve misplaced it somewhere, perhaps on the ramparts. Should we search?”

“Someone foolishly instructed me that living is more important than surviving,” Rilienus kissed across his jaw and down his neck. “There I was, minding my own business, and this magnificent spirit cascaded right out of the Fade and tempted me off my righteous path.” His fingers made quick work of the lower clasps of Dorian’s robe, parting the panels of cloth and palming him through his trousers. “Tempt me again, Dorian. Don’t stop.”

“Never,” Dorian exhaled, gripping his robes and pulling him close, breathing him in and capturing his lips. Parting like his robes. The scents of old parchment and embrium and musk. Fear and courage, hope and despair, love and loneliness. “Not as long as I breathe.”

He crested over and against him like a wave, kissing him as though he hoped to breathe that promised breath for himself, spreading the rest of his robes wide like wings so he could kiss a warm path down Dorian’s chest. Rilienus pressed his forehead over his heart, stroking him through silk. “Everything about you calls to me. All of you to every part of me.” He kissed the center of his chest and looked up, panting. “I want you. I want to feel alive, with you. I want to drink wine from your palms and feel your heartbeat pulsing inside of me.”

“Ballads, _mon rossignol_ , singing ballads for me again.” Dorian chuckled, running a hand though his curls. “Would you like to play a game?”

He blinked rapidly, shutter glimpses of emerald in smoke. “What?”

“And give up my advantage by telling you the rules before I get your approval?” 

“Very well,” Rilienus sat up on his elbows. “I agree to your demands. I’m helpless. I’m in debt. What is your game?”

“Let’s see.” Dorian thumbed his chin, a wry grin curling his lips. “Those buckles of yours. I’ll undo them, but it’ll come at a cost.”

“More debts?” he asked, brows drawing together as he bent to kiss his thumb. “What more could you possibly ask of me?”

“This debt is payable immediately, fortunately for you.” Dorian said, running a thumb along his cheek. “All you have to do is tell me something I love about you for each one. And no unraveling your robes. That’s cheating. And cheaters… incur more debts.”

“Something you love about me?” Rilienus narrowed his eyes. “That feels a trifle- One answer, for each clasp?” He lifted his brow, “ _Are_ there nine whole things?”

Dorian rolled his eyes, still grinning. “If you can’t manage nine, then I’m going to be devastated. Absolutely devastated. Inconsolable.”

“We can’t have that.” He rolled to his side, brushing a lock of Dorian’s hair from his brow. “Nine. Very well. One.” He pursed his lips, “I love you. Surely that counts.”

Dorian kissed his cheek as his fingers slid between the prongs of the first clasp, undoing it. “But of course. Eight more to go.”

“Two. You’ve got me wrapped snugly around your little finger.” He lifted his brows. 

“Are these all going to be about me? As much as I love hearing about myself, that’s not really the point.”

“But it _is_ something you love, is it not?”

“Agh, fine. You have me there.” He snorted, bemused, before unclipping the second. “One about _you_ , now, if you please.”

“Now you’re changing the rules. These _are_ all about me. I can’t help it that the things you love about me are things about you. You’re a deviant.” He pressed his lips together, a slight gleam of humor in his eyes. “My deviant.”

“I’m the deviant? I’m the most honest man in this entire place!” He protested, a look of mock dismay on his features. “Honest to a fault. A dangerous one.”

“I’m well aware. That’s what makes you deviant.” He nudged Dorian’s cheek with the tip of his nose. “Deviant and dangerous and delectable.”

“If I’m so delectable, why’ve you changed the subject?” Dorian scoffed, waving him on. “I expected single-minded focus from you.”

Rilienus sighed wearily. “Hands. Eyes. Harp?” he lifted a brow. 

“What about them, _amatus_? Those are just words, flung carelessly into the Void.”

“You asked for a list, not a dissertation.”

“Fine, should I give the lecture then?” Dorian grabbed his hand, bending at the waist and lifting it to his lips. “Your hands have an elegant strength, the kind that can both paint with threads barely visible and land a painful blow with a quarterstaff. I wish to see all that they can do--I have a distinct feeling I’ve only seen the smallest fraction. Would you like for me to continue?”

“I’d _like_ for you to use _your_ hands to strip me from my robes and make love to me until I’m blind,” Rilienus stared at him. “But by all means. Tell me pretty, flattering things.”

“I’ll take that information and store it for later use.” Dorian chuckled, nuzzling against him as he undid the next three clasps. “There. Happier?”

“Infinitely so.” Those lips curved warmly against his skin as Rilienus wrapped his arms around him, drawing him closer. “That was six, wasn’t it? Or was it eight?”

“ _Five_ , can you not count?” Dorian rolled his eyes again, running his hands along Rilienus’ sides. “Or are you trying to play me for a fool?”

“I _am_ a dullard,” he chuckled softly. “Maths are so very difficult. All these numbers. Two warm hands keep brushing my skin, two eyes like silver are melting me, one perfect cock is positively straining for me. How am I supposed to keep track?”

At the words, Dorian felt a rush of heat that threatened to end their game early, but managed to persevere, quirking an eyebrow. “A valiant effort. You’d better get on with it or my straining cock is likely to tear a hole in my breeches.” 

“There’s an excellent idea, _mon aube_ ,” he traced Dorian’s lips with his fingertips. “Could be a new fashion. I would be entirely in favor.” 

“How in Andraste’s bloody name are you managing to turn this against me?” Dorian laughed, pushing him away. “Four more. You’re nearly there.”

“Taskmaster. Perhaps you’d like to see the sixth? It’s rather trapped at the moment, but I’m sure we could do something about that.”

“You’re a demon.” Another clasp undone. “But I can wait. I can be very patient.”

“I like when you’re impatient.” Those bright green eyes seemed to glow as they focused on him. His tongue darted out to dab his lower lip. “I like when you can’t bear it any more and you’re dying to bury yourself inside of me.” He tilted his head to the side, dark curls dusting his brow. “Inside of my… seven, I think.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_.” Dorian could feel the heat springing to his cheeks as the seventh clasp was parted. He ran his hands along Rilienus’ exposed chest, reveling in the light dusting of dark hair, the way that they clung to his fingers, begging to be caressed. “Hurry up, Ril.”

“That I can drive you mad?” he asked, low, watching him. His fingers skimmed the air above Dorian’s shoulder, their heat touching him without touch. “That I can bring you with my lips and tongue and fingertips until you’re writhing? That I love to? I love to. I love to unravel you. I love to touch you. I love to kiss you. I love to make love to you. Can you please - and I’m asking very nicely, I’d like you to notice - fuck me, for the Maker’s sake?”

Dorian’s eyes raked over his body, starting from his toes, up his calves and thighs, pausing at the obvious tenting of his breeches, and up his chest, before finally landing on his eyes again. A furious wanting, his own desires reflected in them. Dorian undid the final two clasps, sliding the robe over his slender shoulders and onto the dusty floor before repeating the motion with his own. His hands clawed at the smooth skin of Rilienus’ back, forcing him closer, dragging him through the inches that separated them. He claimed Rilienus’ lips, all of the pent up fear and anguish and frustration dissipating through their touches into thin air. 

“Yes, very polite. Now remind me, what was that about writhing, _amatus_?” Dorian murmured against his lips. “Care to repeat yourself?” 

Rilienus groaned, rolling his eyes, and dragged at the lace to his pants, shoving them down, then hooking his fingers into Dorian’s waistband. “I writhe, as well. I want you. I love wanting you. I love that you want me.” He breathed low, tugging his waistband down to his thighs. “My miracle. My dawn. Make me writhe for you.”

Dorian slipped his pants over his feet, leaving them on the floor to collect dust next to his robe. He looked around the room, lit softly by magelight and ringed with candles meant for prayer. He’d always preferred the warm glow of natural light. A wave of his hand and the magelights were doused, the room cloaked in darkness. A snap and the candles sputtered to life, burning cheerily around a statue of Andraste, her crown and the hilt of her blade gilded and glimmering. 

He took Rilienus’ hand and led him to the ironwood altar towards the front of the room, grinning wickedly. The table was bare; the Chantry sisters had very astutely set away the lace altar cloth. Dorian grabbed one of the nearby prayer cushions and set it on the dais. 

“I thought we’d get an early start on our prayers,” Dorian purred into his ear, lifting him easily atop the altar. “Don’t let it be said I have no piety.”

Rilienus groaned, hooking his legs around Dorian’s waist to pull him in closer. “You- if there is any greater creation of the Maker walking this earth than you, I’ve yet to see it.”

“Rilienus, really, how am I ever to humble myself before Him if you keep saying such things?” He chuckled, running a hand along his cheek. “It’s almost if you wish to drive me from purity and innocence.”

“If I had known you in a pure and innocent state, you can be sure I would have been tempted to do so.” That damned, self-satisfied smirk. Sprawled on an altar, utterly heretical, without a care. Or perhaps one. Him. Rilienus cared for him. He didn’t doubt that for a moment. “What a sweet pleasure that would have been.”

Dorian pushed him back onto the pillow, shaking his head before sliding Rilienus fully onto the surface, then leaned forward to kiss up the length of each of Rilienus’ thighs, running his hands along the silky expanse of his flesh.

He knelt down to press his lips to the tip of Rilienus’ weeping cock - weeping, tears of frustration and impatience and desire, just for him - and licked him like a man desperate for sustenance. And he was, by the Maker’s light, he was. Promising to leave the man he loved in some uncertain Void while he slipped through the Order’s fingers - his Father’s fingers. Vowing to escape if their deception became too dangerous. Leaving Rilienus to face the Praeceptor and the Praetor and all of the bastards in the Tower alone, unprotected, without him. Ripping out a piece of himself and leaving it behind, hoping that one day it would be returned to him unharmed. 

Rilienus was hated, not just by the other students, but the other prefects as well; Bana had shown as much earlier. Had he ever had so much as a friend? And what would losing Dorian do to him? Even in the best case, if he was forced to run and everything fell into place, would he even recognize the man Rilienus would be forced to become? 

_Later,_ he thought, pushing the thoughts away and locking them in a distant, dusty cabinet in his mind. For now, Rilienus was here and wanting, oh so wanting. And so was he. 

A subtle tug of the Fade, swirling around the fingers of his right hand, coating them with a smooth, viscous slick. Dorian encircled his lips around Rilienus’ cock, pulled his thighs apart, and slid his index finger between his cheeks and inside of him. 

_Make me writhe_ , Rilienus had asked, _make me writhe for you_. And Andraste’s ass, he did. The small, wooden room filled with the calls of Rilienus’ prayers as Dorian’s finger curled inside of him, as Dorian’s mouth swallowed him whole. Sweat and salt, compression and velvet skin and warm, wet heat. Dorian closed his eyes, burying his nose in those tight, black curls, and losing himself to the symphony of Rilienus’ moans and cries, begging him for more, urging him, egging him on.

Dorian could give him this. If he couldn’t give him his freedom, at least he could offer a taste of it. And he would. For as long as he was able. He needed it as much as Rilienus. To be loved, wanted, desired, touched, needed. To trust, _really_ trust someone outside of himself.

He pulled out his hand to slip a second finger inside of him, catching Rilienus’ gasp with his mouth as he leaned over to kiss him. “ _Vous êtes le chant des oiseaux du soir et la lumière des étoiles et des secrets partagés au crépuscule_ .” Dorian stroked his hand across Rilienus’ spit-soaked length. “ _Vœux aux chandelles, confessions et promesses chuchotées_ .” He nuzzled against his cheek, nibbled on his ear, kissing up and down the length of his chin. “ _Promets-moi que tu me trouveras, mon amour, ma vie, ma raison de respirer, quand le monde sera plus calme et les déviants auront la chance d'être amoureux_.”

“ _Je te promets,_ ” Rilienus breathed against his cheek, arching into his touch. “ _Je te trouverai. Je serais idiot de ne pas te trouver. Je suis seulement un idiot pour toi_.” 

“Don’t die on me, do you hear? Not before we’ve had a chance to live.” Dorian murmured. “ _Je vais arracher votre âme du côté du Créateur, vous sortir du Vide, à travers le Voile, et vous redonner la vie. Je t’aime, mon rossignol._ ”

“ _Je t’adore, mon aube. Mon aube. Mon coeur._ ” His hands stroked down Dorian’s arms, squeezing his biceps as he gazed up at him. “Live with me. Love with me here, now.”

Fields of emerald green, marred by a patch of red poppies. An eternity in those eyes, drawing him in, filling him with sunlight. “Do you want me now, _amatus_?”

Those lips curved, inviting him, dampened by his tongue and made full by the pull of his teeth. “I don’t believe it is possible to want you less. Every day, every touch, my desire grows. Some mystic alchemy in your sweat and your scent and the feel of your hands...”

“ _Mon rossignol_ ,” Dorian smiled, wide and warm and welcoming, casting again and running a hand along the length of his own neglected cock, coating it and pressing it against Rilienus’ entrance. He gasped at the sudden feeling of pressure, fire radiating from the points where their bodies met. “You need not stop your singing. I happen to--” He felt his eyes roll back, moaning as he seated himself deeper. “Very much appreciate this particular tune.”

“You are mana,” Rilienus shivered, spreading his thighs and lifting his hips. “You are everything I never knew existed. Promises from the Fade and fiction. Ah-“ he exhaled as he rolled his hips, pressing Dorian deeper inside of him. “You think I want to channel you for your power, but it’s _you_ that whispers to me. The taste of you in my fingertips. Your colors vibrating through my skin. Caramel and suede and honeysuckle-“ His voice caught as Dorian sheathed himself to the hilt, “You- fierce and vibrant, silktongued, hard as hewn marble-“ His fingers tangled into Dorian’s hair, “Soft as sun-touched velvet. _You-_ singing me awake with the sound of distant bells and calling seas. And you ask if I want you, you beautiful distraction.”

Dorian closed his eyes, letting Rilienus’ words wash over him like waves from the Nocen Sea breaking against the shoreline. What was mana compared to the feeling of the feeling of his lover’s hips, rocking against him? What was prestige compared to the sound of his voice, whispering words of adoration behind locked doors? What was wealth compared to the look in those eyes, promising everything he had always wanted to find? Dorian would have tossed it all aside, without a moment’s hesitation, for this. The simple act of loving and being loved in return. 

“I know-” Dorian whispered, panting. “I know that you want me. How-” He kissed Rilienus’ cheek, smiling against him. “How could I think anything else?” He chuckled, clutching his hand, withdrawing slowly, only to drive deeply again, gasping at the growing tension in his groin. “I’m a glutton- you’ve said it- I’m- Ah! No matter how much you give me, I’ll always be left needing more.” 

“You and I both-“ The familiar tap and song of their rings grinding together as they clasped hands. The way Rilienus’ eyes darkened and softened at once, shade-petals blooming in the forest, as he gasped and bucked beneath him. “ _Kaffas-_ fuck me _-_ “ He turned to catch his lips, kissing him with the same aching hunger that Dorian felt, “Never enough. Never enough of you- More-“

Dorian tore himself away from Rilienus’ lips, standing over him, his head tilted back, as he pressed into him, his pace speeding with the rate of his heart. He could hear the table groaning under Rilienus’ weight as he moved against him, an echo of the cries that surfaced, unbidden, from the depths of their bodies. Rilienus wrapped his legs around Dorian’s waist, clutching him tightly, as he helped to lift him off the table. More, more, more, the word resounded through the prayer room, an invocation, a benediction, exclamations that fell on Andraste’s unhearing ears.

Sweat ran down their foreheads, beaded on their chests like morning dew, a welcome condensation against the stifling, unmoving air and the furnace of their bodies. Dorian brushed damp hair from Rilienus’ forehead, his hand lingering to caress the scruff on his lover's cheek. “ _Amatus,_ ” he murmured, all other words whisked from his mind like leaves in the summer breeze. “ _Amatus-_ ” Dorian’s voice was a strangled sound, pleasure and pain swirling together in a whirlpool until they were indistinguishable. “ _Amatus_ ,” he breathed, surprised he had any air left to speak at all- How could he, when Rilienus was as bright as Andraste’s fire, scalding him, cleansing his very soul? 

“Yes-“ he answered his call, again and again, in words, in motion, bent like a bow- The arch of his body, gold in the candlelight, his head thrown back, his hands gripping the edge of the altar, white-knuckled. “Yes- Dorian- yes-“ The wax from the candles dripped in soft, lazy puddles around them as Rilienus melted and resolved and melted, clasping his own shaft and holding Dorian’s gaze as he brought himself with a gasp, with a stutter, tightening around Dorian. A fist of inner heat, embracing him as his lover cried out beneath him.

The pressure, heart-stopping and mind-numbing, was enough, more than enough, far more than enough, to shove Dorian over the edge with him as he drove into him one last time. His breath caught and his hand clutched at Rilienus’ hair as his body began to tremble, convulsing against the side of the table, against his lover’s hips. Dorian called out his name, but the sound was muted, ethereal, a thousand miles underwater. Limbs shaking, spent, and aching, he let himself drape over Rilienus, their bodies still entwined as they struggled to remember how to breathe.

He began to shift, to roll to the side, but Rilienus’ thighs tightened around him. “No. Stay. Stay,” he murmured, kissing his cheek, his hands sliding up to his skin. Holding him. “Don’t go.”

“As you will,” Dorian exhaled, pressing a kiss to his forehead, brutally tired. “As long as we’re not late for dinner. I’ve managed to work up quite an appetite.”

“Always thinking about your next meal,” Rilienus mumbled. “I want to hold you like this every night. I want to wake under your weight with you inside of me.” His heartbeat was still racing under Dorian’s, his breath unsteady, his lyrical tenor rough and raw. “My insatiable bright star.”

Dorian chuckled, nuzzling against him. “Simulacra, then, my dear. We have quite a bit of work to do before evening prayer.”

“I could have sworn someone was going to do that in his sleep.”

“Well, perhaps I underestimated the complexity, just a _touch_.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “And I think we could use those correspondence pockets, if you can manage it.”

“To a degree.” He hummed, his lips closing over Dorian’s chin. “I’ll have something to test tomorrow, I think. Not for you. But if it works for the inanimate, we’ll be a step closer.”

“Tonight,” Dorian said, running a hand along his cheek. “I want to stay with you tonight.”

“I want that, too,” he whispered. “Soon. As soon as we can manage.”

“If I can get the simulacra working tonight, should I try shifting again?”

“Dorian…” Rilienus sighed, smoothing his palm up his back. “No. You need to practice that. Take your time. I-” He frowned, “I might have a potion. Well. I do. Shadeblossoms. It’s not a long-term solution, but it’s something. If. If the simulacra is good enough.” He met Dorian’s eyes. “I suppose you want to take a look at it now?”

“At your leisure. I also very much enjoy being here, just like this.”

That smile that warmed his lips and smoothed his brows. The way the candlelight feasted and shone in his eyes. “Good.” Rilienus met his lips, soft and full, sweat and pleasure melting between them. “Good.”


	14. new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow

##  Rilienus

The simulacra didn’t work that night. Nor for some few nights after. Which was frustrating to no end, Rilienus could admit to himself, although he tried to keep his focus. He had correspondence manipulation tests to complete, after all, and - more importantly - he didn’t want to give Dorian any reason to start experimenting wildly. They had each other, that was what mattered.

They had stolen moments in the prayer room and classrooms. He stitched a pocket into the inside of Dorian’s robes during one such moment, while Dorian curled against him badgering him about it. He had the pleasure of watching Dorian’s expression brighten with delight at dinner when he slipped an herbed roll into his pocket from the other side of the dining hall, and had to fight to hide his answering grin. One test completed successfully then. 

They had the time the Eye afforded, as well, until they didn’t. He hadn’t realized quite how much he’d come to rely on that Blighted capelet as an excuse to reside in Dorian’s orbit. Of course, it was good that he was able to return to his own studies. It was good that the Praeceptor was impressed by his ability to bring the upstart to heel- and that Dorian was able to fade - at least somewhat - back into the rest of the student populace. But without the excuse to drag him along behind him, there came the complication of how to see him and when. The pocket helped. Slips of paper rappelling back and forth between them across the Circle’s courtyards with places and times sketched alongside suggestions for their respective projects. 

He almost shouted in the middle of his alchemy class when the solution to the gateway finally dawned on him. Dawned, like his dawn, his Dorian: bright and fierce and bewildering. After that it was a matter of time, of gathering the materials - precious gems weren’t easily absconded with and gathering the six he needed took some midnight sneaking. Not an entirely unfamiliar state of affairs. Risky. But to be in love was risky. To be alive. 

Then there was the day he spent carving the necessary runes into the surfaces of each priceless stone, slapping Dorian’s hands away when he tried to interfere. The man couldn’t be trusted to leave his work well enough alone. The next day of rushing back to his room between classes to check on them as they sat in their various bowls in his room, growing and shifting, soaking up the herbal draughts he’d brewed to feed them. He slipped them one by one, carefully, through the pocket to Dorian that night. It was up to him from that point on. The simulacra seemed good enough when they’d tested it in the storage room earlier that day. Good enough for their purposes. For sleeping or reading. So. Finding places to hide the links, then. Securing them. And activating them. 

Then the tests they would need to do to make certain the connection was clear and safe. Pocket dimensions were tricky. Sidestepping along the edge of Veil had an enormous set of associate risks. Rocks first. Then they could upgrade to complicated inanimates, then living things - fruits, plants, mice, larger mammals - until they were sure, absolutely sure that his calculations had been correct and-

He looked up as Dorian stepped into his room through the wall and looked around. “Well,” the madman said with a wide smile. “That’s very useful.”

Rilienus gaped at him. Gaped and pressed his palm to his chest. “What.  _ What _ . What happened to the plan? The plan where you aren’t torn asunder by stray time or space or demons or-”

“Took too long.”

He sank to the floor when his knees gave way. 

“I missed you too much,” Dorian added, stepping to his side and offering him a hand, grinning like the Blighted idiot he was. “I didn’t want to waste another evening.”

Rilienus grasped his hand, unsteady. Shaken as much by fear and horror as he was by overwhelming relief and a sense of- “It worked,” he breathed, giddiness pouring through his veins like champagne.

“Of course it did!” Dorian laughed, pulling him into a hug, enveloping him with his arms. “Your calculations were flawless. I checked them over your shoulder when you thought I was reading. And your etchings too--artistry.”

“You think I didn’t notice your nose poking at my shoulder again and again?” he laughed breathlessly, wrapping his arms around him. “It worked. You’re here. It  _ worked _ . You’re  _ here _ .”

“I  _ am _ .” Dorian ran a manicured finger along his cheek. “Now the question is: how are we to celebrate such a monumental achievement? This is  _ stunning  _ work, phenomenal, I wish we could write about it. Perhaps we can - ten or twenty years down the line. Nobody will believe it only took a couple of weeks.”

“Ten or twenty years down the line they will. Of you.” 

“Wasn’t my work. Can’t take credit. It was all you,  _ mon rossignol _ , and the associated accolades should be yours.” 

Rilienus beamed, tightening his hold on him, “What was it like? What did it feel like? How long was the transfer? How do you feel?”

He pressed a kiss to his forehead, his smile matching the warmth and intensity. “It felt… Hmm… Like walking across a seashore on a windy day? Except instead of smelling brine, it was the crackling of energy, just out of reach. It only took…” Dorian looked down at his watch. “Well, it’s been five minutes since I left, but a good chunk of that was making sure you didn’t faint just now. So, maybe two? Less? And perfectly fine. Am I missing any body parts?”

“We should check. Strip.” Rilienus kissed him quickly, retreating to draw his notes out of the aether above his desk and sort through them. “We should have taken your resting pulse first. Next time. And checked pupil dilation. And- How’s your memory? Any tingling in extremities? Cast something small; we’ll test your connection to the Fade.”

“I think I’m forgetting why I came here…” Dorian quirked an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Was it to get a medical examination? I didn’t  _ think  _ that was why I flung myself recklessly through space, but…”

“No, of course not, but it’s-  _ new _ ! It’s new! And it worked! And we did it, together! I wasn’t entirely- but you’re  _ here _ ! You’re here!” he rested his palm on the desk as a wave of dizziness swept him. “You idiot! You could have died! You could have been torn in half or assaulted by demons or lost in the Fade! I could murder you!” He sat down heavily, his breath catching in his throat, “By the gods, I  _ could _ have. I could have murdered you. You could have  _ died _ .”

“No murder. My choice, my decision, you’d have been blameless. Though certainly… My absence would’ve been interesting to explain. We should’ve come up with a story, just in case. Ah well, too late for that. It  _ worked  _ and I’m  _ here _ , in case you hadn’t noticed. Not floating around in the Fade or ripped to bits. What do you want to do with that information?”

“You’re positive you feel alright?” He wound his hands together. “Really and truly.”

“I didn’t say I’d forego a thorough examination…” Dorian laughed, giddy, taking Rilienus’ hand and kissing his knuckles. “Though if you tell me you’re a dullard one more time, I’m going to toss you into the pocket and never let you out again.”

“You’re going to run from one end to the other in two minutes?” he asked, watching his lips move. 

“I can probably outrun  _ you _ at least. Too much time in the library and not enough exercise. I know, strange coming from me, but you really should try swimming some time.” 

Here. Really and truly here. Here and his and holding his hand and- “The simulacra is working? Everything’s working?”

Dorian nuzzled against his cheek, laughter on his lips and in his eyes. “Perfectly. I almost got confused as to which one I’m supposed to be. Flawless execution, as expected.”

“Then we’re- we’re safe. You’re here and we’re safe and you-” He shoved himself up from the desk to kiss him. Old gods and new, to  _ kiss _ him. To kiss him in safety. To hold him. To breathe in his scent- sweat and cardamom, the sweetness of anise blended with the dusk of musk and cloves and oakmoss, rosemary and prophet’s laurel and felandaris… and the sharp tang of ozone through all of it, electrified. 

“I love you too,  _ mon rossignol _ .”

He groaned, hurriedly working the clasps of Dorian’s robe. “Something small,” he whispered against his lips. “The candle. Light the candle.”

“As you will,  _ amatus _ ,” Dorian murmured. He waved his hand and nothing happened. He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head at Rilienus. “Odd…”

Rilienus froze, lifting his attention from the clasps to meet Dorian’s gaze. “Perhaps there’s a delay. Caused by the geometric overlay. Or. Or the herbs- but you feel alright, that means it’s not severed, that’s good, there’s no need to panic. No need at all. Everything is fine. We’ll simply… figure out what’s causing it and return to the start-”

“Oh, Maker, you’ve turned me into a Soporati!” Dorian exclaimed, swooning in his arms. “Whatever am I to do?”

“Don’t! For- you’re not soporati. You would feel the absence of your mana. If you can’t that means it’s there. We only need to reestablish your ability to govern it and…” He frowned, glimpsing the trembling quirk at the corner of Dorian’s mouth. And dropped him. “You’re an ass and I abhor you.”

“Guilty,” Dorian admitted, catching himself against the desk, nearly doubling over with laughter as he snapped and lit the candle on its surface. “I couldn’t--Ahaha, I’m sorry. Your poor face. I thought it was going to stay like that forever.”

“Why? Why do I love you? You’re terrible. You’re a terrible person.” Rilienus crossed his arms, attempting a scowl. “Awful. Awful and abhorrent and severely lacking in any manners or care or- Southern. You’re acting Southern.” He shuddered. “I’ve forgotten what I like about you. You can go.”

“I suppose I can, can’t I? I’ll see you tomorrow, my nightingale. Hopefully your memory returns by then.” Dorian exhaled an overwrought sigh, walked towards the wall, and vanished from the room.

“Do-” Rilienus stared at the wall with its carefully inscribed circle, gleaming with the dust of precious stones. “Dorian?” He pressed his lips together and pressed his fingers to the wall gingerly, watching them slide through the stone like water. “Dorian?” he asked again, heart in his throat. 

He felt a hand clasp his through the barrier as Dorian entered the room again, that damned ridiculous grin wide across his lips. “I didn’t go far. I hoped you would change your mind.”

“I can’t stand you.” He wrapped his arms around him like a vice. “Don’t you dare leave me again until there’s sunlight.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Dorian kissed him, tenderly, an apology that meant more than words. “Do you by chance have any wine? Or brandy? Even better. I want to celebrate the achievements of the soon-to-be renowned Rilienus Maecilia.”

“ _ And _ Dorian Pavus. I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re the one who walked through the dratted thing. More importantly, I wouldn’t have dared testing my theory without you.” He cupped Dorian’s cheek. “You remind me of the possibility of the impossible, you beautiful miracle.”

“I am but a mere field mouse, a test subject!” Dorian laughed, running his fingers along Rilienus’ bicep. “ _ Maker _ , can you imagine what we could do together, with unlimited resources and time?”

“Anything. Everything.” He felt the laughter bubble out of him and pressed his cheek to Dorian’s. “And I think you mean ‘will’. The things we  _ will _ do, once we’re out of here.” He hugged him fiercely. “Wine. Yes. I think I have a respectable red stored about here somewhere… I’ll leave the glasses to you. And the brandy. Maker knows where you get these things.” 

“Friends, if you really must know.” Dorian chuckled, turning to kiss his cheek. “Not everyone in my Father’s household agrees with my sentence. Lucky for me.”

“Is it such a terrible sentence?” Rilienus asked, nuzzling at his ear. “Truly? I’ve begun to not entirely hate my existence.”

“Not terrible at all. Much better than I could’ve imagined. But what life  _ isn’t _ made just a touch more bearable with a bit of fine brandy?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had it.” He kissed his lower lip. “But I  _ do _ have less than savory access to the Father’s wine cellar. So.” He turned to the desk and pulled open a lower drawer, plucking out an old bottle of Rowan’s Rose he’d been hanging onto. “Good enough?”

“Oooh, lovely,” Dorian extended a hand to take the bottle from him and examine the label. “9:09 was a good year; what a  _ find _ .” He tapped a ruby ring on his left index finger. “Should I show you mine, since you showed me yours?”

“By all means,” he sat back on the desk, linking his arms around Dorian’s waist. “Show me yours.”

“ _ Fortuna eruditis favet _ ,” Dorian intoned and a slash appeared in the air, hovering behind his head. He turned, still wrapped in Rilienus’ arms, raising his hands and pulling the edges of the pocket apart, revealing a miniature wine cellar with a bookcase, half filled with papers, assorted reagents and partially completed devices, and bound books. There was a cabinet filled with goblets of all shapes and sizes, wine glasses, champagne flutes, tumblers, and many more he didn’t recognize. 

“Wine, champagne, brandy, mead, some Rivaini spiced rum,” Dorian smiled, kissing his forehead. “All the makings of a wonderful soiree.” 

“It seems as though someone in your father’s household wants you to be very drunk,” Rilienus murmured against his side, peering at the assortment. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“Options. Someone in my father’s household wants me to have  _ options _ .” 

“You’re too trusting.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed. “But if I weren’t, then where would we be?”

“You make a strong case.” He kissed Dorian’s lower rib through his robes, “Brandy, then, since I haven’t tried it and we’re celebrating. And tell me about the clockwork bird; it looks positively dwarven.”

“Lots of timepieces in there, in various stages of disassembly. I’ve always had a fascination with dwarven crafts, particularly how and why they developed accurate metrics for timekeeping when their crafters rarely, if ever, see the sun.” Dorian waved a hand and a bottle of brandy glided through the air, directly into his palm. He set in on the desk next to Rilienus and summoned two snifters from the pocket before letting it close again. “Time is  _ integral  _ to their rituals somehow, something which baffled me and made me wonder… How could it possibly be? Why would the Shaperate care so much? Is there something we don’t understand?” He tilted his head, brows furrowed. “Clearly.  _ Clearly _ there’s something there, a wealth of information, lost in the rubble of the Deep Roads, knowledge of a forgotten civilization, torn apart by darkspawn raids and the Blights. Have you read much on temporal manipulation?” 

“On what?” Rilienus lifted his brow. “You mean dilation? The sense that it feels as though time changes depending on external forces? It comes up in most of my reading on trances in divination.”

“No, not dilation,  _ manipulation _ . Using magic to alter the flow of time, still it, speed it, even send items  _ through _ it.”

“So… fiction, then?”

Dorian laughed, opening the bottle of brandy. “Perhaps. Perhaps it  _ is  _ fiction. I asked, but if you’d told me you knew anything about it I would’ve been shocked. I only stumbled across anything on the subject by accident and even then...”

“You’re saying that someone’s doing this, then? Or has done?” 

“You’re going to think me mad if I tell you why I began musing over the possibility.” Dorian chuckled, pouring a small amount of the amber liquid into a snifter and holding it out to Rilienus. “Absolutely, completely off my rocker.”

“Too late,” he murmured, lifting the glass to scent the liquid. It was strong and vaguely sweet - fermented apples and apricots. “Go on.”

“Well, you see, it all began when I was trying to come up with a gift for the daughter of my father’s steward. Kind man, practically raised me while Mother was off drinking or gardening or Maker knows what else.” He poured himself some of the brandy, filling the glass about an eighth of the way. “I decided to translate some ancient Elvhen fairy tales for her from Tevene. Took me almost a month, barely finished before her birthday. Full of all sorts of silly things, as you’d expect, but there was one story that caught my attention.”

Fairy tales. He had a vague recollection of nights under the pergola, tucked between his parents as they read. Not Elvhen, though. Stories of dragons and pirates and devious merchant princes... “Ah?” he caught Dorian’s hand and guided him over to the bed, leaning back against the wall to listen. “Which?”

“A young Elvhen warrior,” Dorian began, modulating his tone to tell the story, “determined to prove his valor and cunning, was sent down from the sky to the earth below, to capture some sort of treasure—there was no exact translation for the word—from the Children of Stone. He knew that his predecessors, sent on the same mission, never returned, their names never spoken again.

“Instead of boldly charging in like the others, the young man spent years garnering the favor of one of the gods, Dirthamen, I believe, but I always seem to confuse him with his brother. He granted him a single raven’s feather, wings, he said, in case the warrior lost his way.

“The first time he tried to force his way into the underground sanctum, but was grievously injured in the process. He pressed the feather to his heart as he lay dying and bled out into the earth.

“But!” Dorian’s eyes were sparkling as he took a sip from his glass. “He awoke the next morning, back in his bed, whole and unharmed, as though he’d never left. So he tried again. Failed  _ again _ . A hundred deaths he died, tricks and stealth and brute force, only to return again and again, the dwarves never remembering his failed attempts.

“Finally, growing weary of his never-ending quest, he used another tactic. He dropped all of his weapons at the great doors and offered himself in friendship. A lifetime he spent among the dwarves, gaining their trust over years of service. On his deathbed, weakened by exposure to the lyrium they mined, the Shaperate asked why he’d come to join them, and he finally, for the first time, gave his answer. They offered him the treasure he’d sought, but he refused to take it, knowing now what the item truly meant.

“Not wishing to return again, to undo all he had seen and done, he gave the feather to the dwarves, and passed on from the world.” He chuckled again, taking another swig. “See? Silly, hmm?”

“It’s a sweet story.” He rested his cheek on Dorian’s shoulder, cradling the untasted brandy where he could breathe it’s scent mingled with the man beside him. “I’m surprised we allowed that moral to remain. Seems terribly uncharacteristic of us as a group, no?” He nudged Dorian’s knee with his own. “Did she like it? The girl?”

“She did,” Dorian said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I didn’t see her much after that. I was sent off to Perivantium and by the time I returned, she’d been sent to another household.”

“She was an elf, then.” He sighed, “If she could read, she’s probably well, yes?” He squinted. “I’ve never met an elf. We didn’t have slaves or servants at home and then here... Well. Shartan.” He shrugged. “But if she can read, you can write. No?”

“I could. I suppose I just never thought of it.” Dorian shook his head, sighing. “An oversight, I suppose. Father didn’t send her far, she was still in Qarinus, serving Tilani or Ahriman, most likely.”

“Ah.” He brushed his fingers against Dorian’s. “So the feather, then? Reversals and repetitions. You think that was actual time being manipulated? Not a dream? Visions repeat in the Fade all the time, on loops.”

“I’m not sure, but it opened my mind to the possibility. And, have you ever wondered  _ why  _ loops exist in the Fade? Why we can manipulate matter and thought and space, but not time? Is it not a pattern like any other?”

“It’s a line. It’s linear by nature.” He hummed low, “We build, we grow things, create and destroy. And thought is… tricky.” He tilted his head, peering up at Dorian. “So you think… what? That time is somehow… malleable? Despite its constant trudge forward?”

“What if it only  _ seems _ linear, because we can only see the tiniest speck?” Dorian asked, thumbing his chin. “The world, if you look across the horizon, appears to be flat, but the rotation of the moons suggests otherwise. I’m not entirely convinced that time can be controlled and altered, myself, but if the possibility is there… It’s an interesting thought experiment and ethical quandary at the very least.”

“Ethics,” Rilienus widened his eyes. “Maker’s breath, the implications of being able to change the past? It’s… beguiling, certainly. You said someone’s researching this? You would imagine the Archon would put them on a leash.”

“Can’t put corpses on a leash, no matter what the Archon wants.” He paused, shrugging. “Well, I  _ could _ , but there’s no way they’d be up to speaking, even if I found the proper remains. Too long in the Void. Nobody has researched this subject—as far as I’m aware—since before the First Blight.”

“But you are.”

“Casually. Theoretically. And secretly.” Dorian quirked an eyebrow, a slight smile playing across his lips. “For that very reason. There’s little chance of it ever working, so no point bothering old Radonis with my ravings.”

“So I shouldn’t add that as an addendum to my announcement of spatial confluence? What a pity.”

“Add what, precisely?” Dorian laughed, drinking the rest of his brandy and pouring more. “Your lover read a children’s tale—an Elvhen one no less—and suddenly thought he could fiddle with time? Go ahead, but it won’t get you a spot in the Minrathous Circle.”

“My  _ brilliant _ lover who seems to be capable of whatever he sets his mind to is thinking vaguely about fiddling with time. Yes. I think that would bring the walls down.” He kissed Dorian’s shoulder, “Or it will. When they know enough to be awed by you.”

“I’m a deviant, remember? A deviant and a delinquent. The only thing that would awe them is  _ possibly _ my inability to accept authority. I’m glad you think so highly of me, though. Warms me to my core.”

“I’m perfectly happy for you to remain a mere deviant while you’re here. It’s safer. Less the delinquency, thank you. But there’s going to come a day when you’re going to unleash your mind upon the world and it’s going to be glorious.” He sipped at his own brandy, letting the fire burn his tongue and rush through his senses. “I want to watch all their jaws unhinge and fall from their faces.”

“Saccharine, Ril, you’ve gone saccharine again.” Dorian took his hand and kissed it. “I want very much for you to see it, too. Maybe you can keep me from getting myself killed.”

“One can try. Credit for the attempt?” 

“What kind of credit would you ask of me, then?” Dorian chuckled. “Money? Influence? Access? Father’s still got it in his head that the next Archon will be a Pavus, an idea I find as entertaining as it is unappealing.”

Rilienus traced Dorian’s lower lip with his fingertips. “Speaking as someone who actively has one Magister wanting them dead, I would strongly recommend against the position. It seems rather fraught.”

“I find all the politicking incredibly dull, have no fear. I half hope Father will give up his seat to some hapless apprentice to spare me the ordeal. Unlikely, but one can dream.”

“You’ll learn to like the Senate, I think. Think of it: a whole room of people you can frustrate with your delinquency? And none of them can do a thing about it?” He chuckled, “We’ll cut a swath through them. Leave them reeling.” 

“Magister Maecilia,” Dorian murmured, running a hand along his chest. “Quite a name,  _ amatus _ . I wonder what they’ll think of you. Whether you’ll show anyone what you’re capable of.”

“Not everything. Never everything.” He sighed, peeling his robe open to give Dorian better access. “Have to keep them guessing. Just enough,” he smiled, licking his lips as his lover's touch warmed him more than the brandy. “Just enough to make them wonder and worry.”

“Terrifying. An unknown quantity. You’ll set them shaking in their overly polished boots.” Dorian’s cheeks were flushed, reddened from the closeness and the alcohol. “I very much look forward to it.”

“I want to set you shaking, though,” he murmured. “I want to touch you until you’re feverish and sit through dull sessions watching you squirm.” He flicked a clasp of Dorian’s robe open and slid his hand inside to palm his chest. “And then take you home and feed you grapes and make you tremble all over again.”

“My, my,” Dorian tutted. “Can’t have Magister Maecilia caught with a man in his bed. What would they say? Think of the scandal. Think of your poor wife.”

Rilienus lifted his head, “What are you- what wife? When am I getting a wife?”

“When you ascend to your father’s seat.”

“They just toss a woman at you when you join the Senate?” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Of course not. But it’s expected. You’ll be the last of your house, which means…”

“I’ll adopt a disinherited deviant. It’s very simple. Maker knows, I’ve no need to continue my uncle’s bloodline.”

“Rilienus…”

“What?” He sat up, “Are  _ you _ taking a wife?”

“And curse the poor woman to a lifetime of dealing with my existence? Certainly not if I can help it. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to. I’ve been betrothed since I was an infant.”

“So was I, once. Try patricide. It dulls the interest.”

“Amatus,” he said quietly. “Something like what we have will never be accepted. It goes against the interests of the Imperium.”

“How?” he frowned. “What should it matter to them? It’s not all like the Order out there. You said so yourself. There are plenty of talented Laetan waiting for a chance at the Magisterium. Line them up, let them serve. After me, obviously, but…” he rolled his eyes, “The interests of the Imperium are to grow power and defeat the qunari. That doesn’t require me to lie to some woman every day.”

“Perhaps it shouldn’t matter, but it does.” Dorian sighed, not meeting his eyes. “There are men like us in the Magisterium and other powerful positions. Not one of them is unmarried. Not one of them would admit what they are outside of their bedchamber.”

Rilienus caught Dorian’s chin between his fingers and turned him, catching that soft steel gaze with his own, “There isn’t much I know about the world outside these walls that doesn’t come from books, I’ll give you that. But I feel very confident, Dorian, that there  _ are _ no men like us. Not anywhere.” He kissed him, tasting the brandy on his lips and the lingering hint of ozone, “You just walked through several walls, my love. We are unique, you and I.”

Dorian’s smile returned slowly, tentatively, and widely, reaching the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps it’s better we learned of the world from fairy tales and children’s stories. They never try and limit possibilities to only things that have happened in our reality. The world would have us believe that certain things can’t happen, just because they haven’t yet. Perhaps there will come a day when we can prove them wrong.”

“I don’t particularly care one way or another,” Rilienus murmured against his lips. “But I’m not going to be without you. Not for a good long while, if I’ve any say in it. Your wife will just have to get used to that.” 

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ , the things you say.” Dorian gripped his robes tightly, pulling him close enough to kiss. “I suppose she shall. I can’t very well deny you. Nor would I wish to,  _ mon rossignol _ .”

He chuckled softly, smirking, nipping at Dorian’s lips. “I should hope not. I do so enjoy when you surrender.”


	15. On viewless wings

## Dorian

With the allure of their completed correspondence portal, the days began to move like cold molasses and the nights like flashfire. Every evening, well after Cassius began to snore, he’d shuffle from his desk and into his closet to change for bed. The simulacra would walk out and take his place, and Dorian would shift aside his neatly hung robes and step through the portal into Rilienus’ chambers. Lucky thing he’d been given a roommate who passed out almost immediately after prayer and stayed in bed until the very last moment he could get away with it. Quite fortunate that nothing seemed to disturb him, not even Dorian tripping over the leg of a chair and cursing loudly. 

Falling asleep in the warm, steady curve of Rilienus’ arms. Waking up next to him every morning. That alone was almost as pleasant as the sex. And by the Maker’s light, there was plenty of that too. Making love and studying and chatting until the stars began to slowly wink out, giving way to the light of the rising sun. 

Collapsing exhausted, limbs tangled and sheets in disarray, papers scattered about them like tiny blankets. Waking up a few hours later to face the dreadful prospect of hours apart. 

Intoxicating. Dorian didn’t need brandy to feel tipsy. Not when he had the smell of old books and squid ink and that subtle crackle of energy left over from his transference through the edge of the Fade. When he had hands that could weave silk from thin air. Lips that could whistle a symphony to life. The body of a man who needed Dorian as much as Dorian needed him. 

Mornings were slow, horrid torture, a competition to see which of them would be forced to untwine and stretch and begin the lethargic descent back into normal life. Dorian won those battles, staying in bed until Rilienus was forced to drag him out, pressing kisses along his exposed skin. Shoving him back through the portal, back to a sleeping Cassius. Drawing his simulacra back into the closet and taking his place, tired, but indescribably happy. 

The Eye was long gone and Dorian missed the captured glances he’d stolen from Rilienus throughout his days. Missed knowing he was there, watching his every movement. Missed talking with him about the classes they’d shared by necessity of the cape. Dorian had been immediately placed in more advanced classes; once the Eye was removed, their only common hours were breaks and staff training, but they couldn’t well be seen with each other during free hours. 

He hated that Ril was limiting himself, pretending to be less than he was, but he understood the necessity of his game now. If he was quiet, he might yet live to see the future they both longed for, one without masks and walls, a life underneath a boundless sky. 

Dorian’s breaks were becoming more limited; he’d given Lethina and Erend a few hours a week casting different types of shields after apologizing for his disappearance and shortly after the Eye had gone back to the Praeceptor, Professor Kailish had approached him offering private tutoring in addition to his advanced dueling sessions and he’d asked Professor Aelin for her assistance with a device to store magical energy. He’d been working with the pattern for some time, but the configuration was too unstable. 

Days were spent tinkering with gemstones and probing the edges of his power. Nights were spent going over it all, sharing everything, diving into the depths of magical theory before exploring entirely different depths altogether. It was a beautiful, blissful existence, marred only by the threat of discovery, the energy of hiding, and confinement to the damned castle. But they were small things, miniscule, compared to the benefits of drifting into the Fade every night encircled in his lover’s arms. 

They were both growing exhausted from lack of sleep, but so was the rest of the student population. Exams were quickly approaching; new class rankings for every skill would be determined based on each student’s performance. Everyone was beginning to look haggard, chugging potions to stay awake, drinking copious amounts of tea and draping themselves over their library books. Dark circles began to appear under nearly all of the student’s eyes, hidden by thicker and thicker layers of kohl. 

Heritia in particular seemed preoccupied with the examinations, talking in sharp whispers to himself and occasionally jumping at things nobody could see. Lethina said that Kailish sent him to the dorms to rest after he nearly encased himself in ice. 

The Order’s pupils were all on edge, bone weary and anxious, including Rilienus, but he was perhaps the only one concerned for someone else’s sake. 

Dorian crossed his legs on top of Rilienus’ desk, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed at his chest, brows raised. 

“What do you mean I’m _not allowed_ to rank first?” Dorian asked, his voice slightly raised, his eyes fixed on Rilienus. “You _know_ that I could. In everything except perhaps staves.”

“Must I explain this to you in excruciating detail or can you use a small portion of your sense?” his lover asked, barely glancing up from his parchment. He’d rewritten his assignment for alchemy three times now, dulling it down with each incarnation. “I’m beginning to feel redundant.”

“I understand. I _do_ . Intellectually.” Dorian frowned, watching him continue to copy and recopy his notes. “But do you have any idea what it will _do_ to me?”

“‘Allow’ was, perhaps, a poor choice of verb.” He cast a dark look up at him, then bent back to his task. His act. His infuriating act. “If you want to risk everything, you will. I can’t stop you.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Dorian sighed, standing up and crossing the room to take a seat beside him. “Just stand up and lie? Make mistake after mistake on _purpose_?”

Rilienus finished a line and carefully set his quill to the side. “I think it’s time you saw what life is like for the rest of us.”

“You mean to let me channel you?” A smile lit up his face as he met Rilienus’ eyes. He was a different sort of beauty when he was angry, still and silent, like a snake coiled to strike. Dorian sighed, holding out a hand. “You’re right. I know you’re right. And I hate that you’re right.”

“Invariably,” he muttered.

Dorian laughed, shaking his head. “Not ‘invariably’. Need I remind you of all the times you were wrong, even in our short acquaintance?”

“You do. Regularly.” He rubbed his fingers together, smudging the ink that stained them rather than cleaning them. He stared at the ink, at the quill, then back to Dorian. “Would you like to try? Have you looked at the spell I used?”

“Does it typically require me to be six inches inside of you for it to work?” Dorian fixed him with a wry grin. “And no, I haven’t. Can you teach me now?”

“I _told you_ , I hadn’t tried it that way before. I don’t know. Theoretically, I don’t think so. I simply happened to have used the articulation of the mana for a... lesser purpose previously…” He ran his tongue over his teeth, glancing back to his fingers. “I’m fairly certain we can manage without, if you’d prefer.”

“What on the Maker’s green earth would make you think I’d prefer without?” He chuckled, running his thumb along Rilienus’ cheek. “Unless you’re still angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he sighed, turning to catch his thumb between his teeth. “I’m concerned.”

“You’re turning into a bit of a mother hen, Ril. Decidedly above average? Can we agree to that? With an outright win or two?”

“You wouldn’t know ‘average’ if it wandered up to you naked and slapped you in the face.”

“I knew that you weren’t average when you wandered up to me and _wanted_ to slap me in the face. Too bad you weren’t naked.”

His nostrils flared when he was trying not to laugh. His frown deepened. Little things Dorian was learning over time. “Do you want to learn the spell or not.”

“Shouldn’t we get naked first? Perhaps you could buy me dinner?” Dorian laughed outright, fixing his eyes on Rilienus. “I’m not sure of the proper order of these things.”

“If you wait to learn how to do it until after we’re naked, then we will simply be naked doing other things. Which is all well and good, but hardly the point at the moment. Dorian-” He sighed, “Don’t make a ‘point’ joke. I’m trying to be serious.”

“I would never!” Dorian scoffed, in mock dismay. “Teach me, and _then_ we can take our clothes off.”

Rilienus nodded. “It’s essentially a grounding spell. The words are training wheels, you can take them or leave them. The main idea,” he’d settled into his lecturing voice- slightly breathless with interest rather than lust. “-is that you’re focusing on relaxing your whole core. You let your mana bleed out, opening that space for whatever comes through it. I like to picture a hollow tree- there was one in the garden where I grew up that always had things nesting in it, from roots to branches. You summon your connection to the Fade, but you don’t pull from it or touch it with your mana. It’s a line, that’s all. A hollow, open line between you and what’s out there.” He tucked his head to the side. “When I do it on my own it feels like… tasting the Fade? Not _doing_ anything. Residing with myself. Emptying. With you, that hollow became… a funnel, is the best way I can think to describe it. Does that make sense?”

“I believe so. Like meditation. I believe I understand.” Dorian smirked, raising an eyebrow. “One question.”

“Yes.”

“Your, how did you put it? ‘Lesser purposes’?” Dorian asked, chuckling, looking at him from under his lashes.

Rilienus’ eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“Care to explain, _amatus_?”

“The grounding has the added benefit of - as you might expect - inducing a sort of euphoria and a relaxation of the muscles which makes certain activities rather more - and rather easier - than they might otherwise be.” He lifted a brow. “Answered?”

“Hmm…” He ran a finger over his mustache, his smile widening, curling the corners. “Perhaps I’ll need a demonstration, one day.”

“Happily. If I can sort how to manage it with you without channeling you. I would be more than happy to do so. Otherwise,” he sighed flicking his gaze to Dorian’s fingers and back, “you would have to simply observe.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I can think of few prettier sights.”

“Focus, _mon aube._ ” He shook his head, but his lips had curved into a pleased little curve of a smirk. “Perhaps, if you’re good, we can see about a lively Winterfest exchange.”

“ _Fasta vass_ , how am I supposed to focus with that image in my mind?” Dorian shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Quick, tell me something that isn’t positively alluring.”

Rilienus chuckled. “Have you noticed that one of your ducklings has developed some sort of rash on the back of his heel? I suspect he’s hiding contraband among the nettles. Likely to start oozing sometime soon.”

“Oh, which one?” Dorian rolled his eyes. “And how did _you_ notice? I hardly see you anymore.”

“I’m a spy and a sneak. I told you from the start. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, giving the Praeceptor reports on my comings and goings? Or do you just enjoy watching my backside?”

“A portion of both.” His lips quirked. “Would you like to try it before I disrobe you?”

“Do you think I need to? I’d rather like it if you disrobed me sooner rather than later.”

“What have we said about practicing things rather than rushing in?” He rolled his eyes, “Setting aside the fact that I learned this quirk of this spell that way. I had been using it with… some regularity on my own previously.” He nudged Dorian back on the bed, “Let’s see how it goes. Close your eyes. Focus on your core.” 

“Much rather focus on yours, but fine.” Dorian sighed, trying to keep the disappointment off of his face. He closed his eyes and try to focus on the rhythm of his breath, the slight shifting in his muscles as they began to relax, and the sound of the nightingales and cicadas outside of the window. 

He imagined the endless lull of the ocean, the tide running over his feet before retreating across the shore again. A perfect blue sky, cloudless, the sun shining brightly overhead. He let it warm his skin, down to his toes, where the water cooled him again. Sunlight poured into him like wine from a carafe, spilling over, radiating from his body. 

Dorian reached out to touch the source of his power, just observing it, as from a distance. A tendril connecting him to the Fade. He could feel it, the crackle of electricity, like static on his skin, but he didn’t answer its call, didn’t summon the lightning to his fingertips. At peace, his body was at peace with his magic, for once, not fighting to dampen it and keep it under control.

Rilienus’ voice filtered to him like the wisps of a cloud, “Let the power go, let it seep out. Breathe. Feel that space where it used to live and let that space be empty. Open and wide, free and waiting.”

Mana washed over him like the swelling of the waves, not imperious, but consistent, a steady leak of energy that his body controlled instead of his mind. He let it fill him like a chalice to his brim and bubble over the top, cascading in a waterfall onto the sand below his feet. Rushing through him until—suddenly—the movement stopped. He could still feel the pull from the Fade, but it was like a hand tugging on the other end of a line. Empty, hollow, a vessel ready to be filled again.

“Dorian?” that lilting tenor he’d become so familiar with, shimmering like the echo of raindrops. “There’s a light near you. It’s a warm, soft light. Don’t touch it. Don’t pull it. Just observe. Let it warm you. Let it touch that hollow place. Let it come to you. Gentle. Let it release every muscle, every thought. Feel. Only feelings. Only sensation. Sense that space and allow it to be. You are perfect as you are. You are open and ready and balanced.”

Glowing. He was glowing. Dimly at first, and only in the center of his chest, but with every breath the light covered more area, bleeding out through every part of his body. A candle’s flame instead of a bonfire. Moonlight instead of the burning of the sun. He felt as though he could float off the ground and become one with the air, weightless and formless, a being of pure light.

“Do you feel it?” that whisper, distant, more light than sound. “Dorian?”

“I do,” Dorian replied, though the voice sounded unfamiliar and faraway.

“Do you want to feel more? Something new? Or do you want to let the mana come back to you?”

“I want more, _amatus_. I want everything.”

“I know, Dorian. I know. Let that hollow warmth soothe you. Can you feel your fingers?”

He considered the question, his body felt like it belonged to a stranger. “Like from a great height. But they’re there.” That voice, calm, otherworldly. His, but not. The usual intonation was gone, soothing and serene, water unmoving in a crystal pool.

“Can you feel this?” 

A touch of wind across the surface of his skin- gentle, slightly cooler than the light inside of him, callused. 

“I can.”

“And this?” That breeze skimmed across him, bloomed within him, sending rivulets of rain spiraling upwards through him to the backs of his eyelids. That fluid wind shifted, ebbed, and twisted around and through him until his fingertips seemed to spark and glow. 

“It’s pleasant,” Dorian said, the same measured tone coming from his lips. “The beginning of a summer storm.”

“Hold onto that,” the wind whispered through him. “Hold onto the warm and the hollow and the light and the gentle patter of raindrops.” He felt that rain begin to gain, expand, shimmer like starlight through glass. 

Clouds darkening on the horizon, rolling in with the rain, like the waves lapping at his feet. The sound of thunder, far removed, followed by a flash of light and the smell of ozone, lightning in the distance. The air energized, the sky humming with electricity and the promise of rain, building pressure inside of his body. Waves growing larger, choppier, reaching past his knees when they broke against the shore. The sand was dotted with raindrops, fat and heavy; the world was warm and wet.

“Are you well?” the distant storm asked, more vibration than words. 

The words confused him and for a moment he was unsure how to respond. “Well? I feel boundless. I believe that I am well.”

“You _are_ boundless,” thunder rolled through his veins. “You are Dorian.” The waves bloomed up and around him, warm and welcome, lapping steadily higher. “The light; come back to the light if you feel lost, the light is there, it’s you. Where do you go if you feel lost?”

“The light, _amatus_. I can still feel it.”

“And this. You can feel this.” 

The first thread of lightning that touched him felt like another raindrop. Until it was joined by another, and another, and the storm slowly coalesced around him, drizzling and snapping through his skin until it spun in a lazy circle inside of him. Like an electric cat walking in a circle, looking for a place to nap. Elongated and sharp-edged, ridged with spines that clipped and left trails of lightning in their wake. Lightning without heat, that bound rather than severed. Restless, concise, twisting around and over itself. It purred thunder and hissed rain, snapping at its own tail. Eager. Furious. Out. Out. It wanted out. Wanted to tear out through his eyes and leap into the storming sky above and around and within. 

He held out a hand, welcoming it, wanting to soothe it, to bring it into the stillness and the warmth and the calm. Dorian stared into the eye of the storm, unafraid, grasping, aching to tangle himself along the coils of power. Not to steal it for himself, but to know it, to understand its nature. 

An unbidden hum echoed from the hollow of his chest, urging the lightning to emerge fully from the clouds and join him. Down it curled, encompassing him, striking the ground with its power and pulling grains of sand into the air as pillars of glass. Energy that could bend and shape and reform, binding and winding against itself over and over, altering the earth and the sky just by _being_. 

He could sense everything as it approached, color and smell and sound mingling and merging into one; the bright white of the lightning was a high bell tolling, the sea a rolling timpani, and the rain a gentle strumming of a lute. Connected and intertwined, a web of life echoing between the forces, animate and inanimate, brushing his fingertips like lengths of thread. 

“More,” Dorian murmured, the voice sounding strange to his ears. “I can almost see the fabric of the world, weaving itself before me.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the wind wept and the sea rang. Colors collided, fragmenting and spiraling outwards as the nesting creature expanded, nuzzling against the limits of his space, lapping elfroot and orange blossoms into his skin until it felt like silk, billowing outwards. 

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, felt, _been_ \--” Dorian let the animal wrap around him, squeezing him tightly, running his fingers through air that felt like silver and smelled like drying ink. The edges of his vision muddled, replaced by touch, sound, smell and taste; he could taste memories of stolen sips of wine and running through cut grass; he could feel leaves freezing into perfect sculptures and melting back into life. Warmth of embraces, nearly forgotten, many and distant, cast in a wet copper shadow. 

And he could feel an echo of himself, somehow, within all of it. The pulsing of love, steady as a heartbeat, unyielding as the sea. 

“Rilienus,” Dorian whispered, reaching for him, for the creature made of light, for both of them at once, separate but whole, divided but unified. “I could weep for the rest of my life and still I wouldn’t have fully expressed the wonder.”

The waves continued to lap, steady, joining the beat of the drums and the strums of the harp that plucked violet from his throat. Cerulean blue flushed through the beast as it twined up his arm and encircled him, static and bells and soil, spilling ink over him that flecked from his fingers to trace and sketch the world in its most basic parts, blending them and reassembling them until there was no sky or sand or sea, but only all, specks of dust and darkness and starlight- love and terror and quiet and noise and love and love, tightening around him, winding like hands, like silk tentacles until that too dissolved into a scatter of petals and light in a wide, feather-gray expanse of dusk. 

He lost himself to the storm, head thrown back, laughing and crying into the wind as it whipped his hair and his robes, his cries adding to the cacophony that surrounded him and wound through him and became a part of him, filling him up with sparkling, crystalline energy. 

The world was lace, billowing and growing out from his body, woven by unseen forces. Dorian pulled, just a thread, a single strand, and others came to take its place, the design shifting to his will. He felt a sudden longing for more, to do more, to give _more_ , and he drew a minuscule fragment of his own energy, from that place so nearly out of reach, and bound it together with the others, his own power crackling as he soothed it into place. 

A winding tapestry formed, white light intertwined with strings of purple, a riot of color forming wherever they touched, shifting both shades into something novel. 

“Can you feel _that_?” Dorian called, shouting into the storm, his laughter ringing out over the sound of thunder and crashing waves.

Water rushed over his head, pouring down his throat and through him, flowing out of his fingertips and transforming into energy as it did. “What-” Thunder cracked, vibrating his teeth, sparking smoke and ozone. “Did-” Sand poured like rain through webs, sideways, twisting like snakes and threads, weaving on themselves. “You-” Color burst like apricots and peaches, overripe, dripping down his cheeks like tears. “Do-?” 

“Convergence,” Dorian replied, staring into the thunderclouds. “Momentary convergence. Wanted--needed--what does it feel like?”

The serpent had grown, fattened, sliding dry and hot across his skin as it wound around him, every muscle flexing and quivering, it’s scales peeling wide and wet to unfurl the smallest of wings. “More-” it hissed, its tongue dancing, darting. Luminescent and transparent, flooded with brandy mist, its skeleton a collection of lightning bones. The clip of sharp claws against his back. “Dorian-” it purred, roared, writhing up his spine. 

“I can teach you to fly, _mon rossignol_ ,” Dorian said, slender fingers running across smooth scales. “I can teach you to breathe fire. But only if you can control it. You need to let me help you. Let me show you how.”

“Don’t teach,” it breathed wine and bonesmoke and the sheen of copper at dawn, it’s fangs brushing the back of his neck like a lover’s touch. “Be.”

Dorian exhaled and allowed his form to dissolve, melting like ice under the blazing sun. He was everywhere and nowhere at once, infinite and infinitesimal, mixing and merging with a creature that somehow remained distinctly separate. They pulled the power of the storm and the waves and the smoke into themselves, a single being controlled by two spirits, working in synchrony. 

Their wings stretched out, after an eternity of confinement, and they felt a smile tugging their lips, curling the corners upward. A tension in their legs. A tension in their arms. A blistering tension throughout their entire serpentine body, until finally, blissfully, their feet left the ground.

The air was like ice in their teeth as they gained speed, waves of the scent of fresh grass rising beneath their wings as they rose and rose and rose. Twisting and churning and diving for decades, plummeting into the infinite ocean and resurfacing with the water pluming from the tops of their spread wings. They screamed as one, an elongated rolling laughter of smoke and storm and threads that cast across the sky, tilting it and rearranging it, shrinking it around them like a cloak as they tucked their wings to the side and dove again- dove, shattering the threads and the sky and the air and world- Their wings flung wide, feasting on potential and the force of their own muscles, the song of harps and glass shattering and distant weeping and bellsong vermillion drums. 

They crested over a high hill, swooping down from the heavens to land in a field of chrysanthemums, the blooms crushing under their feet, their smell filling the air as they rested their wings upon the grass.

Thoughts swirling like gusts of wind, a silent conversation that lasted a lifetime. Dorian pulled all of his disparate particles back into form beside the beast. Its wings folded, growing smaller, until they were encased in scales again. Dorian rested his hand on the creature’s head, nuzzling against it as he began to unwind the threads that held it together. Gently, sweetly, he released the white tendrils back into the sky, swallowing the purple ones whole.

The sky was clear when Dorian stared up again, the clouds dissipated. If he squinted he could see the ocean in the distance, but the sound was too faint to make out.

  
  


## Rilienus

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept into the sunlight. But the bells tolling from the city reached his ears by some faint miracle as he drifted helplessly in the Fade and he woke with a sharp start, gasping. 

The sharp, musky, sex and sweat scent of Dorian beneath him. Ink dripping rhythmically to the floor from where the bottle had toppled from his desk. Notes and parchment had scattered around the room, blown by some uncompromising wind. 

Two. Three. Four. Five. 

Only the first set, then. An hour before morning prayers. 

But his heart was thrumming in his chest. There was a smudge of shadow across Dorian’s neck where he’d evidently slept, kohl transferring from him to Dorian in his slumber. 

His lungs ached as though he’d been running. 

Full. 

The spread of leathered, scale-born wings. 

Falling and falling and falling…

He glanced up to find Dorian staring at him. He swallowed. “I’m very in love with you.” His voice burnt like ashes, tart as raw cinnamon on his tongue. 

“Back,” Dorian coughed, his voice hoarse and scratching. “Come back here and kiss me, before I’m forced away by the inevitable march of time.”

Ril collapsed back to him, tremors running beneath his skin like skittering mice. “Dorian,” he whispered, burying his face back to his neck, lips moving against his skin. He felt burned from the inside out. Again. It didn’t make any sense. He’d taken care, taken his time, felt his power slip from him to rest inside of Dorian- and then- He shivered. “Dorian.” He kissed the line of his neck up to his jaw. “Dorian.” He breathed him in, nuzzling his nose into that soft space beneath his ear. The closer he was, the more he could smell Dorian, taste him, feel him beneath him- the better he felt. Collecting particles of him to fill the tiny void left by his absence. “Dorian,” he kissed his jaw to his chin, sighing, “I need to reseam your robes.”

“Whatever happened to ‘not rushing in’ and practicing fully clothed, hmm?” Dorian hummed, holding him tight against his chest, finding his lips and claiming them. Cardamom and ozone and the faint taste of wine. Caramel melted and bruised with ink and kohl. “Not a complaint, don’t misunderstand, just a curiosity.”

“Whatever happened to observing and not touching your power?” he shivered despite the morning’s heat. “I’ll admit I was impetuous. You were so smooth and at peace, I wanted- It was going according to plan until you… I don’t know what you did.” He tasted him again, again. “I don’t know what you did, but it was- It was…” Terrifying. Miraculous. Gilt and precious and all-encompassing. He felt exhausted, emptied, and somehow still effervescent. “It was-”

“Transcendent,” Dorian finished, smiling against his cheek. “I could see the fabric of the world in your power. Can you blame me for wanting a place in it?”

“No, of course I-” He sighed, pressing against that smile, those lips that drowned him over and over again. “A little warning might have been- I hadn’t placed any of the wards I’ve been working on because I didn’t think- Well. I didn’t think. What _did_ you do, exactly? I could feel your connection to the Fade but I couldn’t quite reach it.”

“I wasn’t thinking either, or it wouldn’t have happened.” Dorian said, brows knotted, running a thumb across his bottom lip. “I had the wherewithal to not allow you to reach it. I pulled the tiniest sliver from across the Veil to share with you. I’m not--I have no idea what the implications of that action are. I have the impression that what we did was incredibly dangerous and foolhardy; I believe that a similar tactic could be used to borrow or loan another mage’s power? Or… possibly even steal it against their will. I’m not sure how permanent the effect would be.”

Rilienus nodded slowly. “Yes, it was- It felt as though you were… manipulating my mana. It felt…” he shut his eyes. “It felt very- I wanted you to take it. That- wasn’t what you felt when I was awash in yours.” He frowned. “It didn’t seem- Was it?” He leaned up, “You took my power and I didn’t care. How did I not care?” He’d felt scared in the moment, but it had been a distant fear. A theoretical one. Quickly submerged in the wonder and rush of… whatever that had been. “What was that?”

“I don’t know, _amatus_ . I _was_ manipulating your mana, and you mine, what little I gave you. Magic can be affected by emotion, yes? Perhaps that had something to do with it. I could try and make something up to explain it, but--” Dorian hugged him tightly. “For now, I’ll kindly ask you not to use that spell with anyone else again, unless you absolutely, undoubtedly trust them. Or until we know exactly what happened and can protect against it.”

“It hadn’t occurred to me to do so,” he let himself be folded into Dorian’s arms, burying his face back to the crook of his neck. Why wasn’t he terrified? Why wasn’t he angry, even? Not at Dorian, he couldn’t blame him, but at what had happened. What might have. What he’d been willing to lose. The idea of doing any manner of similar casting with someone else- How did he trust Dorian in such a short span of time? With his body, with his secrets, with his past, with his _essence_? Was it reasonable to trust anyone that much? But he did. Had he lost his mind? Possibly. And he didn’t care. 

“I doubt you would’ve shown such faith in me had you not already channeled my power.” Dorian ran a hand through his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I could almost taste the very nature of your being through your mana. What we were doing was almost certainly unsafe, but I felt no apprehension, no fear at all. Just excitement, curiosity, and overwhelming joy.”

“Yes,” he echoed, shivering. But it hadn’t been his power bent to another’s will. It hadn’t been his essence bowed and aching and starving for more. “Exactly.”

“You’ve a hunger. I could feel it. The power to break your bonds?” Dorian held him, cradling him in his arms. “Desire isn’t necessarily negative, though. I have my own wishes as well, as you could see. They could push us to accomplish amazing feats. And now that we are aware of those desires, we can address and prepare for the corresponding temptations. Shore up our weaknesses.”

“Yes,” he said again, softly. If Dorian could do that with his mana, he could only _imagine_ the possibilities if he actually tried to _do_ something with Dorian’s- “Wards. More wards than I thought.” He lifted his head. “We’ll try again. Stronger boundaries.” Were there any strong enough? “For now, I require that you roll off of your robes so that you can attempt some modicum of decency.”

He didn’t want to stop touching him. Didn’t want to move. He wanted a day, perhaps two, just to lie with him and sort through what had happened and kiss him- oh, and kiss him again and again. And since that was nowhere near a possibility- action. Focus. Protecting them both. Holding this flame close and shielded from anyone who might attempt to snuff it out. 

“I’m not sure I feel quite well enough for coursework today, _amatus_. I feel as weak as a newborn kitten,” Dorian said, shifting wearily off of his partially disintegrated garments. “But it might be easy enough to get excused. Enough of the others have been working themselves into the ground that it’ll look like nothing more than exhaustion.”

Rilienus peeled the cloth out from under him carefully. Every movement felt like dragging weights. His muscles ached. His head felt fuzzy. “Nevertheless,” he sighed. He kissed Dorian’s cheek gently, gathering the silk to his chest as he rolled to the side and dragged himself to sit upright beside him, leaning against the wall. “Rest. I’ll fix these and make you a draught. I’ve lyrium stockpiled from the last few years of exams.”

Dorian readjusted, placing a pillow behind his neck and his head on Rilienus’ shoulder, kissing it and closing his eyes again. “You’re far too good to me, _mon rossignol_. I love you very much.”

“There will come a time when I will let you sleep all day,” he murmured, letting his mana filter into the cloth. It was rote by now, the stitches returning where they belonged, but even that simple repetitive casting was like struggling to climb a cliff. 

“Why sleep?” Dorian yawned, rubbing his cheek against Rilienus’ shoulder. Nestling like a cat. “Why would I sleep all day if I could spend it in your company instead?”

“Perhaps I’ll exhaust you to the point where you’ll require it.” He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut to divest himself of the need to fight their impulse to fall shut. Sleep. Had he ever so deeply wanted to rest, to drift into the Fade, to curl against the man beside him and slide- He shook his head roughly, refocusing on the threadwork. “If I’m lucky.”

“You are. Both of us—Wake me in a moment?”

“Soon. In time.” He brushed a kiss over Dorian’s brow. “Soon.” 


	16. The weariness, the fever, and the fret (1/3)

##  Rilienus

He listened with half an ear as the dueling trials continued behind him, focusing on the gas that was slowly rising from the copper bowl to condense within the beaked alembic. Grihi and Penth had already finished, collecting the spiny residue from their glass and tossing them into the center ring to smoke and fizz. Ekal would be next, because if he didn’t place in the top three at least, his father would tan him. He waited, holding the heat just on the edge of too low to bring his shardflash in accurately but later. Failing these tests took a great deal more concentration than passing them, he’d learned over time. 

He fought to keep himself from glancing across the ring. Dorian had his trials one after another by chance of lot - not what Rilienus would have chosen for him. He hated the idea of showing less than he was, less than he was capable of, and doing so in quick succession was going to threaten his pride more than Rilienus suspected he would care to endure. 

The arena in the center of the three courtyards stood empty most of the time, but now it was draped with silks and tapestries, cloth of gold flags catching manufactured breezes on the columns above. 

He began scraping the shardflash free as Ekal threw his vial into the center - but it didn’t pop or even so much as smoke. Too little quicksilver, Rilienus mourned. He glanced around the other tables. Old gods and new, but they were slow. How difficult was it to condense a fulminating compound? 

He couldn’t afford to fail entirely and the compound only maintained its verve for a short period without being appropriately preserved. Yet the prospect of placing even third was enough to make him hesitate. Somewhere in those cushioned stands, his uncle was observing him, marking him, trying to gauge his skills. If he even began to show some acumen in a subject, it was a risk. Too great a risk? In alchemy? He’d managed to have himself thrown out of most of the courses he desperately wished he could study. What was the worst that could happen if he happened to do moderately well, for once? With explosives. He sighed and watched his flash fail in his hands, carrying it to the well and tossing it in to let it sputter and die like Ekal’s before him. A waste. A waste of labor. Now he wouldn’t even be able to take the next level of alchemy and he needed supplies for that. More late nights stalking the grounds, absconding with materials to continue his studies in secret. Yet another lost opportunity. He didn’t bother to hide the bitterness and disappointment on his face as he stalked away from his failure. Let them think he was angry with himself. 

He cleaned his hands on the edge of the ring, watching his name dip again in the rankings list. Lower than he wished. He would have to make it up in oral presentations in the next week. Or place higher than he’d wished in dueling. He’d planned to skate through with a sixth, but perhaps a fourth would be required to maintain his hold on his place in the Praefector’s ring? He would have to do the maths, and quickly, and regauge the rankings. What a Blighted headache. 

He wandered to the stands to get some water while the younger students were finishing up their dueling trials in one of the smaller rings. Two left, a boy and girl, slender as twigs. Sparks of lightning bounced off a decent spirit shield and the answering flames singed the robes of the boy. Professor Kalish froze them in place, naming the victor- the lanky girl with flaxen hair. Eleven, perhaps ten? Their rankings shifted and the students took their seats. 

A small break before quarterstaffs; his cohort would go first. Then he could breathe. Another trial and he could rest for a couple hours. Not that it would be particularly relaxing; Dorian had illusions, thaumaturgy,  _ and  _ artificing all in quick succession. Dorian’s dueling would be last. His best subject. The one he’d been determined to win. 

One success, Ril had suggested. One resounding win and then middling placements in the rest. It might be too much to hope for; Dorian had hated the notion on principle, every muscle in his body apparently rebelling against the concept of mediocrity like he rebelled against the Order’s edicts. 

The lots were finally drawn, names appearing in a bracket on the large board. Sixteen students. Four rounds. He’d be seeing Penth again in the first round and, if he managed to best him, Dorian in the second. Dorian was paired with an easy match; Lysander had weak shoulders and there was no way Dorian would lose in the first round with his parents seated in the stands. 

And Magister Pavus and his wife certainly were there. He could see it in Dorian’s face, the way his brow furrowed whenever he glanced towards the gallery benches. There was a man who looked vaguely like him, but they were too far away to tell. A strange family, to not recognize Dorian for what he was. To not understand him on the most basic level. To send him  _ here _ of all places. 

He saw Dorian take a staff from the racks and take his place in the line. One of the rare times he hadn’t seen him smile, but somehow he managed to look just as handsome when he was visibly irked. Dangerous. And nobody had even guessed at just how dangerous he could be, at what Rilienus had seen under the shifting tendrils of his power when they merged and morphed and flew through the air like a beast of legend-

Rilienus took his own staff and his position, facing Penth and bowing. Professor Javin began to rattle out the rules. No hits above the neck or at the groin. The bouts would continue until one partner surrendered, hit the ground, or left their boundaries. Single elimination until there was a final victor. 

If he could make it past the first round, he’d place in the top half. Good enough, most likely, to maintain his current ranking. Rilienus exhaled, finding his center, and allowed his eyes to trail up to Penth’s. Dark brown, sparkling with intelligence, under thick eyebrows and shaggy hair that curled at the tips along his jawline. Slender, but quick and bright. He  _ could’ve  _ had an easier partner for the first round, but Penth wasn’t unbeatable. He’d be cocky from his performance in alchemy. He’d be underestimating Rilienus, who had never shown much aptitude for staffwork. 

Ideally, Rilienus could make his win look like a lucky accident. Tricky. Trickier than just winning outright. A game, to assuage the eyes that burned into the back of his robes.  _ Stances _ , Dorian had chided him, on the morning he’d first worn the Eye. He’d repeated the word like a mantra, making his blood boil in his skin. Of course his stance had been off. He’d meant for it to be. But today, he needed to win. Rilienus adopted a balanced stance, his feet light against the dry grass. 

A bell sounded, echoing through the courtyard. Each pair touched staves, down the line, and then the fights began.

Clacking and scraping, sounds of partners meeting along the line. Penth pulled back, watching him, waiting for his approach. Not quite as overconfident as Rilienus would have wished. Slow, steady movements across the yard, giving nothing away as he shifted towards his opponent. A clenching and slight turn of Penth’s torso. Rilienus brought his staff up to block the blow the other man had telegraphed, just as it came down near his stomach. He used the downward momentum of his block to hit Penth low, connecting with his ankles. 

Penth winced and stepped back, unbalanced, and Rilienus used the opening to attack again, but it was weakly blocked. Reposition. Stance. His feet moved back to the line, readying himself. 

It wasn’t the stance that Rilienus watched, but Penth’s eyes. Dark brown, gleaming in the high afternoon sun, irked. Two, seven, four- and Rilienus allowed himself to trip backwards to throw his partner off balance again. A fool’s game; showcasing his lack of coordination while taking Penth’s lighter hits about his torso. He was going to bruise, no doubt, but it was worth it. Small sacrifices to maintain his facade. Small and large, he thought ruefully. He heard Javin calling out names as others in the line claimed their victories. Watched Penth become more desperate, more reckless. He wanted it over with. He wanted to win, claim another victory. 

Unfortunately for him, Ekal had forgotten his Blighted quicksilver. 

Rilienus took a breath and waited. Penth was swinging harder now, trying to throw him off the line, and that suited Rilienus just fine. Aggressive. Quick. He watched for another successive low-high combination and let the lower hit slip his knees, leaning forward so that the uppercut cracked against his jaw. It was jarring and his vision blurred a little - he hadn’t expected quite that much force - but he and Penth were pulled from the line and Rilienus was moved to the next round by virtue of Penth’s disqualification. 

He rubbed his jaw absently, letting dismay flash across his features as he faced the stands. He didn’t look for his uncle Quaeren. He didn’t need to see him, or see if his act was landing. That would only make him question, doubt, worry, and he had more important things to focus on. Like Dorian, swaggering off his win; he’d missed whatever finishing move his lover had used to enter round two when he’d been recollecting his faculties. Whatever it had been, he was clearly proud of himself, wearing that broad, slick, prideful grin that made Rilienus want to sink to his knees before him. 

Rilienus shut his eyes and accepted the elfroot salve from an underclassman as he took a seat to wait for the next round. 

He felt Dorian sidle closer, taking a seat on the other end of the bench. 

“Looks like it’s you and I.” The ferocity of his joy was edible.

“Thrilling,” he deadpanned, smoothing the unguent over his jaw.

“Fear not—“ Dorian laughed and Rilienus could almost  _ hear _ the sparkle in his eyes, even without looking at him. “I don’t intend to take any animosity I feel about my recent punishment out on you. Wait—“ he slid closer, his voice dropping low. “Are you well enough to fight? I didn’t see what happened but I heard Javin shout and your  _ face _ —“

“Don’t worry,” he stretched his jaw, keeping his gaze on the field. “I’m well enough.” He slanted a glance towards him- and that was a mistake, because he was beautiful, radiant in his victory and concern and the sweat at his brow. He cleared his throat, “Well enough to give you a challenge, at least.” 

“I’m very glad to hear it. I do love a challenge.” Dorian sang, grinning widely, pulling an arm across his chest to stretch it. “Remember your footwork, Maecilia. And try not to get distracted by my form this time.”

“Talk about my footwork one more time,” he griped sourly. Sour, the taste of fresh lemon juice on Dorian’s fingers- He pushed to his feet as the last of the pairs in the ring finished and the bell sounded. “Behave, deviant.”

“As you will, Dominus.” Dorian stood, picking his staff from where he leaned it against the bench and holding it behind his neck, sauntering back to the field, not sparing him another glance. 

Rilienus shook his head with a sigh, collecting his staff to take his place across from him. He made a point of taking a balanced stance and spread his hands, brows lifted. “Mind you don’t trip over your ego, Pavus.”

Dorian fixed him with a questioning glance, just the slightest twitch of his brow as they faced each other. It was as though he was looking for Rilienus to choose the outcome before they began. “So considerate of you to worry about my balance. Perhaps you should pay attention to your own, my sullen friend.”

He passed his stave carefully back and forth between his hands, tilting his head. “Is this what you’re choosing then?” he asked, lining up as Javin called out. “I wouldn’t have expected it.”

“Staffwork? It’s never been my strongest skill.” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow, his voice nearly lost in the breeze. “There are others here more adept than I.”

“There are indeed,” he paced to the center line and bowed. “Of course, even if you win, you’ll surely fail in the final.” He glanced up, letting a thin smile dust his lips. “I’m poor competition, I’m afraid.” 

“Are you?” Dorian smiled slightly. “How unfortunate.”

“For us both,” he murmured, tapping his staff to Dorian’s to wait for Javin’s second call. “Perhaps I’ll get a second wind after the festivities. Trounce you properly.”

“Another bout after all of the revelers have returned home, eh?” Dorian laughed lightly, sliding his staff along the length of Rilienus’. “Maybe if you manage to impress me, Maecilia, we could arrange a private practice session.”

“In your dreams,” Rilienus knocked his staff aside as the call came. “May the bolder be the victor.” 

“ _ Audaces fortuna iuvat _ ,” Dorian called, drawing his staff close to his body, circling, that clever smirk crinkling the corners of his eyes. Quicksilver and smoke, bright enough to distract. Drops of sweat were collecting on his brow as he moved. “I wonder, which side is your weaker one?” Dorian’s body shifted to his left, but he recognized the feint and caught the other end of his staff near his right hip bone. 

“Hoping to get back at me for all those whippings, Pavus?” He lifted a brow, “As if I would make it easy on you.” He knocked Dorian back a step, letting him see each and every stroke before he landed it. A struggle, that was all that was necessary. A slight struggle then he could fold and get a cup of wine and wait for this misery to pass. He danced back out of the way of Dorian’s next attack, letting himself stumble on the smooth ground. “Nice try.”

“Get back at you?” Dorian laughed, lashing his staff towards Rilienus’ ankles. “No, no. Sometimes I enjoy being put in my place. Keeps things interesting, hmm?”

He stumbled again, knocking Dorian’s attack off at the last moment. “At least it appears you’ve learned what your place is,” he gritted his teeth. “Beneath.” He aimed high, tilting at Dorian’s shoulder, then his ribs on the opposite side. 

“It’s got the best view, no?” Dorian chuckled, blocking him and shoving him backwards. He straightened, wiping his forehead casually, as though they were drinking iced tea in the shade. “I’ve become fond.”

The sweat. The scent of him. The infernal smirk of his whole being. Rilienus growled, pushing off to drive him back to the center again. He’d have thrown him to the ground if he could, but circumstances being what they were, he fought instead. He fought until there was sweat stinging his eyes and he lost track of their fellows and it was only him and Dorian and the crack of the staves- Late, he remembered the others. The stands and the observers and his Blighted uncle. He dropped his guard and took Dorian’s next swing square to his ribs, letting it throw him to the ground, gasping. He didn’t have to pretend that it hurt; breathing was sharp suddenly. “Yield,” he croaked. Foolish. Foolish to show even a modicum of aggression. He winced as he climbed to his feet, staggering, leaning on the staff more than he probably needed. 

Dorian’s eyes widened and he was at his side. “Maker’s breath, are you alright? That looked—“ he sighed. “Well, it probably hurt less than that crop. A good match, Maecilia. I appreciated the exercise.”

Rilienus bowed stiffly. “Until next time.” He turned and limped his way out of the ring. Elfroot. Elfroot and wine. Dueling was going to be a challenge with a popping jaw and an aching rib, but he’d keep his place. Somehow. He always had. He wondered, with concern, if Dorian would be able to hold back. 

Only two pairs were left. Phlenex seemed to have recovered from the Chain; he was facing Prefect Lamonis, each regarding the other with extreme distaste. It was hard to choose which one of them he’d rather see sprawled on the ground. 

On the other side of the ring, Dorian stood tall across from Sevine, smiling as he bowed his head. As he straightened again, Dorian looked over her shoulder, past the banners, and met Rilienus’ eyes. A slight quirk of his brow. A slight widening of his grin. And  _ Maker _ , was that a wink?

Four staves up, a bell, and flashes of movement. Rilienus was relieved that Dorian had been paired with her and not one of the others; both Phlenex and Lamonis were the sort of people that Dorian would love to knock into the dirt. 

Sevine adopted a defensive stance, auburn hair braided carefully at her back, easily blocking Dorian’s blows, her moves seeming almost choreographed. Smooth and effortless, she glided through the air, parrying blows that should’ve been devastating. Dorian had her in strength, but Sevine was swift and skilled, dancing around him and making him look heavy on his feet. 

Dorian stepped forward, a half turn, and a sharp crack filled the air as their staves collided again. He was knocked off balance, stumbling, and Sevine took advantage, shoving him backwards several more steps. Dorian dug his staff in the ground, catching himself, before pulling it out again and twirling it in the air. 

Reset. He came at her again, brow furrowed, focused, laughter gone from his eyes. Blocked, easily, movements like water, like wind. She turned, whipping her staff against his thigh. Rilienus could hear Dorian’s shout from across the yard; his lover winced in pain as he went down on one knee. 

“Yield?” Sevine asked, her voice carrying through the grounds. 

Dorian stood, grimacing, as he faced her again, whirling his staff and shifting his feet back into position. He nodded, bowing his head slightly. She moved towards Dorian, twisting, lashing quickly, landing another blow against his ribs. 

“Yield, Pavus,” she repeated, standing still as he shook his head, readying his staff again. 

The tiniest twinge of a grin and his staff connected with her shoulder, just as hers knocked him off his feet. Dorian fell to the ground and raised his hand, spitting out the word ‘yield’. 

She extended a hand to him, helping him to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder. Dorian took a vial of elfroot and chugged it, walking over to the stands. He caught Rilienus’ eyes a moment, tapping the spot on his arm where his wards were drawn before he took a heavy seat between two of his followers, the cheerful blonde and her friend.

Lamonis had already made short work of Phlenex and was dabbing his forehead, sipping water smugly. Sevine moved to join him back on the field and he spat, taking his staff and returning to the line. Dorian was laughing, already launching into a story, grimacing slightly as he moved. An act, almost certainly; his wards would’ve helped dull the blows. 

Another round, but Rilienus barely registered the blow that brought Lamonis to his knees; the self-righteous bastard deserved to be taken down and Sevine was just enough of a braggart to make his loss sting a trifle more. The blonde girl next to Dorian practically squealed with excitement when their friend won. She threw her arms around Dorian’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

He could almost see Dorian’s muscles tightening as he turned to stare at her, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. She beamed at him, evidently taking his turn as invitation as she kissed him again on the lips, then leapt to her feet and fled into the preparation tents. 

Dorian turned to stare at the boy who always seemed to be stuck at her side, a look of pure bewilderment on his face. “Erend, did you--”

Right. Erend. That was his name. It would be gone again the next time Rilienus saw him, he was sure. The boy’s cheeks were stained red and he looked back towards the ring. “What.”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,” Dorian swore, “did you know that she--” 

“No.” 

Rilienus squinted at his hands. Unlikely. There was too much shame in Erend’s expression; perhaps he hadn’t been willing to admit it to himself. 

“I’ll--” Dorian shifted uncomfortably, staring at his fingernails. “I suppose I’ll need to speak with her. I’m not sure what she wants from me. Or why she’d choose to do that  _ here _ of all Blighted places.”

Erend scoffed, rising. “You’re not sure.” He frowned, “I’ve got thaumaturgy trials.”

Rilienus followed the young man with his eyes until he made his way to the preparation area across the ring, then glanced at Dorian out of the corner of his eye. The girl thought she could make a claim on him in front of witnesses. 

Wrong. 

There was no way in the Void that Rilienus was going to have to deal with that gossip every day for the rest of his life. He rolled his shoulders. Someone else. Someone less grating. He could accept that. Not her. 

Dorian’s cheeks were flushed as he slowly stood from the bench. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, before walking towards the far circle, where his praestigia trial was to be held, looking miserable. Three more. Dorian needed to get through three more trials without making a scene, or at least less than the one that had just been made for him. He looked like he’d much rather be anywhere else. 

Rilienus rested his cup of wine on his knee and dropped a grape into his pocket, sending it across the space. He’d rather have reached through that pocket, taken Dorian’s hand, twined their fingers until the creases between Dorian’s brows smoothed. But the grape would have to do. 

He felt a tingle against his wrist and lifted his sleeve to see words write themselves in golden ink.  _ Créateur sauve-moi des machinations des femmes stupides _ . The show-off. At least he’d stopped using his lightning to write on him - that had begun to leave a mark. 

Dorian didn’t look back at him, but he reached into his pocket, removed the grape, and popped it into his mouth. 

He could hardly blame the girl for becoming infatuated. Rilienus had fallen, hard and fast, and sometimes it felt as though he were still falling; moments where he met Dorian’s gaze, or listened to him mutter to himself while he read, or felt him wrap around him in his sleep. That didn’t mean he planned to let this be a bother to either of them for long, but he could spare a little sympathy for the girl. Maker preserve him.  _ Sympathy _ . Dorian  _ was _ a terrible influence. 

Some day, Dorian was going to have to teach him his trick with the disappearing ink. He had far too much he wanted to say and no way to express it except to sit and wait and hold steady. He rolled another grape between his fingers, summoning his mana to trade the liquid between the fruit and his cup as he watched Dorian set his tools in order for his practical, then popped the wine-filled grape into his pocket. 

##  Dorian

That Blighted woman. 

He felt a twinge of pity for her. She’d clearly mistaken his friendship, his collegiality, for something else, something he didn’t particularly want to provide, even if he could. And kissing him in full view of the school and all of the spectators? Madness. 

Void, his parents were there. Had they  _ seen _ ? What would his father think?  _ Fasta vass _ , Rilienus had been right behind them. He didn’t seem too perturbed, if his gifts had been any indication. A small condolence. He ran his thumb along the smooth skin of the grape, glad for the gesture, but wishing it were more. He wanted to speak to Rilienus, to devise a plan on how to get himself out of this mess, to hold him, to kiss him breathless in the darkness until they were both panting and-

And Erend. Maker’s breath, he looked like he’d swallowed a toad whole. Dorian had suspected he fancied Leth, but assumed the younger man would bring it up when he was ready.

He’d been thinking of Rilienus when she’d done it, of course, the way he’d lost himself during their fight. Hoping he hadn’t injured him. Worrying over his rankings. Wanting to wipe the sweat from his forehead and replace it with kisses, to experience what he meant when he threatened to trounce him later. Dorian needed a good trouncing. Maybe several, in quick succession, until he’d forgotten about the feeling of Leth’s bold lips on his. 

Poor girl. Poor fool of a girl. 

He grumbled over his table, setting up mirrors and prisms and expensive gemstones. A sharp elbow to his ribs made him cry out in pain. 

Sevine was standing next to him, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, her heavy braid slung over her shoulder. “Erend’s turned into a tomato and Leth’s off giggling about you. What  _ happened _ ? I go off and actually accomplish something, and you lot weren’t even paying a lick of attention, were you.”

“Kaffas, that  _ hurt _ .” Dorian scowled, looking up at her. “And you should’ve  _ known  _ it was going to hurt, seeing as how you just hit me there with a stick.”

“Snogging. Snogging in the bleachers, Dorian? Really? While I was off winning a tournament?”

“Technically after,” Dorian sighed, “and I would barely say it qualified.  _ She  _ kissed  _ me. _ ”

Sevine nodded, beginning to organize her own table. “She likes you. Are you surprised?”

“ _ Clearly _ ,” he said, taking out half a dozen sapphires from a carved box sitting on the table in the center of the ring, examining them, and placing three back. “She could’ve gotten both of us in trouble.”

“You’re concerned with trouble? With how you like to skirt around the rules, just toeing the lines?” Sevine laughed, taking a handful of topaz. “Don’t worry about it. It was innocent, I’m sure. Worst either of you will get is a stern word from the Praetor. If that.”

“Why would she--”

“You’re not an idiot. Why are you acting like one?” Sevine sighed, swiveling to face him. “She likes you. For obvious reasons. I don’t need to list them to you; you’ve demonstrated often enough that you’re perfectly aware of your appeal. Your family is here. Your  _ powerful _ ,  _ wealthy  _ family.”

“I’m betrothed. As is she, almost certainly. What’s the point?”

“Betrothals aren’t marriage vows, Dorian,” she frowned. “Thankfully, for all of us. I’m betrothed to a buck-toothed ignoramus from Marnas Pell. Do you think I will allow that agreement to come to fruition? Absolutely not. Lethina likes you and you seem to enjoy her company. Rare enough. Is it such a bad thing?”

He thought back to his meeting with his supposed future spouse, Livia Heradanos. Pretty as a doll and with no small magical talent, but vain and vapid. Half an hour and he’d wanted to choke himself with a spoon. Lethina would certainly be better than that, but--

“If you’re going to tell her no--and I’m not telling you that you should--do it soon. Not tonight, not with all these people about. Don’t embarrass her in front of everyone or she’ll despise you. But soon.” Sevine poured herself a glass of wine, setting it on the edge of her table for later. “And, for the love of the Maker, be kind.”

Dorian reached into his pocket again, rolling the grape around in his fingers. He took it out and pressed it to his lips, biting through the thin skin. He almost laughed when the fruit burst, leaving the taste of wine on his tongue. 

The way Rilienus talked about their future together almost made it seem possible. Eating grapes after long days working in the Magisterium. Protecting each other from growing too serious, from being tainted by the cruelties of the Magisterium. He tried to imagine the look upon Livia’s face if Ril simply showed up and never left his bed. Dorian’s wife, whoever she ended up being, would need to grow accustomed to him, indeed. 

He’d never even considered the possibility that he could  _ not  _ wed. That he could remain a bachelor or choose to be with someone who didn’t fit his parents’ ideal of a suitable partner. That he could be with Rilienus, if he wanted to, openly? People would whisper, but what would they do against him? Against  _ them _ ? The prospect was intriguing, to say the very least.

Dorian flexed his fingers, stretching, trying to refocus on the trials. Ril had said one win. One outright win. Any more would draw the administration’s attention to him, making things more dangerous for the both of them. Dueling had made the most sense, as he’d already demonstrated his talent there and had been consistently working with Professor Kailish outside of lectures to perfect his technique. So he’d need to place lower in the others, to make up for it. 

There was a blank sheet of paper sitting on each table, a dozen tables, one for each student. Praestigia at their level was warping of light and sound waves to create various effects. The simplest were static, inanimate objects. More complex conjurations could move, make sounds, and allow physical objects to pass through them without disturbing the structural integrity of the illusion. This trial was meant to test all three.

Dorian loved illusions; the concept of bringing something directly from his mind or memory into the physical world had always been fascinating to him. He’d started with them from a young age, acting out stories as he read them, first conjuring settings, and then characters that could play the other parts. Daring young heroes rescuing their compatriots from terrible fates. Swarthy pirates risking life and limb for treasure. Politicians and spies and soldiers. Towering castles and vibrant jungles and vast, arid deserts. 

Father had given him the Pavus birthright amulet on his twelfth birthday, as a sort of apology for a fight they’d had earlier in the week. It was ancient, nearly as old as his surname. Made by his ancestors who could walk the Fade and shape it to their will. They’d pulled a bit of their magic into the amulet, crafting it into a magical heirloom that provided a focus for developing illusions. Rilienus had been the only person to whom he’d shown its powers.

At the time, he’d surprised even himself. He’d never thought to share it with another. Never had a reason to. By some inexplicable impulse, he’d taken risk after risk with him, which miraculously had paid off. His illusions, his insecurities, his  _ soul _ , he’d shared with Rilienus. He’d never felt so powerful, all by letting someone else in.

And now he had to pretend he couldn’t cast. 

He sighed, running a hand over the blank parchment as the rest of the students busied themselves around him. After a while, the shuffling began to ebb and the other pupils took their places stiffly in front of their benches. 

A bell sounded and the description of a scene began to materialize on the paper. He read through it quickly, clenching his hand to grind the sapphires into dust with force, scooping them into a bowl. He reached for that quiet center of himself, the one he and Rilienus had so recently explored together, stretched out a ribbon of mana, and tossed the powdered gemstone into the air. 

A vision of Andraste, ringed in light, appeared before them. She was surrounded by warriors, knelt in prayer, blades on their knees. She cried out, a voice more bellsong than mortal. “Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven. Field and forest shall burn, the seas shall rise and devour them, the wind shall tear their nations, from the face of the earth. Lightning shall rain down from the sky. They shall cry out to their false gods and find silence!”

A cheer rose from her soldiers, rising and raising their blades as they prepared for battle.

An arrow shot from behind him, directly through Andraste’s heart. The vision wavered, writhing, and then winked out. Only two of the three objectives accomplished. He saw Sevine’s illusion standing firm after being disrupted, as did Bana’s. His had been the most impressive visually, with the most individual elements, but it wouldn’t matter. 

He manufactured a look of false disappointment as their ranked names appeared. Third. Not terrible. Third of twelve. He looked for Rilienus in the crowd, trying to avoid his father’s eyes. His lover hadn’t budged from where he’d been stationed in the second row of participants, watching the rings with apparent apathy; as Dorian caught his gaze, he lifted his chin from his fist, blinked once, and lifted his cup for a sip, his lips curving just barely before he drank. Dorian felt a small weight plop into his pocket and wondered if he’d earned another wine-filled grape. 

He popped it into his mouth, wishing he’d plucked it from his lover’s hands instead of his sweaty pocket, and the tang of more full-bodied alcohol exploded against his tongue. A juicy trophy to sweeten his defeat.


	17. the weariness, the fever, and the fret (2/3)

##  Rilienus

Rilienus rested his wrists at his spine, pacing down the line and winding between the students waiting and preparing. He’d meant to wait. Meant to bide his time and support Dorian from afar, but he'd looked so crestfallen after his demonstration. And oh, Rilienus was too proud of him to allow that to stand. 

That beautiful man. That beautiful, reckless, glorious man had played the game and  _ won _ , in such a masterful way. He wanted to bask in Dorian’s eyes, reassure him, tell him how brilliantly he’d done. Show him, he thought feverishly, if he had the opportunity. Something sweet to ease his suffering. 

For them. Dorian had done it for them. Maker knew, he’d shown little interest in preserving his own hide. No. This had been an act of love, a silent demonstration, a gift. Gifts were meant to be reciprocated. 

He tilted past the preparation tents, working on a story for why he needed to pull Dorian to the side for a moment- twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until the next set of trials. Time to reset the ring. Surely, he could drag Dorian into a darkened classroom and take him in his mouth and taste him, stroke him, kiss him into frenzied ecstasy in that time, if they hurried. A blitz. A fast tumble in the dark; the sort of thing he’d thought was all he would ever know before Dorian had blazed into his life like a meteor. Gods old and new, he wanted to celebrate him. He would, he promised himself. After the trials and the cursed ball and feast that followed, he was going to set himself to the task of making Dorian writhe and buckle in his warded room until sleep claimed them both. But for now, he could give them both a reckless reprieve as a reward for their restraint in these demonstrations. 

His heart soared as he caught sight of Dorian only feet away. Minutes. Mere minutes and he would have him all to himself to kiss away his frown and- He nearly stumbled in truth as a magister poured through the students from the other direction like a storm, taking Dorian by the arm, and dragging him some few feet away to stand beside the ornamental waterfall that had been erected for the event. 

Dorian’s father, he suspected. Similar features. Similar, but not the same, because where Dorian was a fire, his father was forged from flames. Steel like Dorian’s eyes, but hard. 

The falling water provided a manner of privacy over their exchange, but Rilienus hadn’t lied when he’d told Dorian he was a sneak and a spy. He wound his way wide around the columns and found a perch in the dark on the other side of the falls to eavesdrop. 

“-what game you are up to, boy, but that display was inexcusable.”

Dorian was looking at his feet, defeated.  _ Defeated _ . Had he ever seen a shadow of  _ that  _ emotion darkening Dorian’s features? “Father,” Dorian began, his voice hollow. “I was—“

“Trying to embarrass me? Your mother? Our House and all who serve it? Tell me, Dorian, what in particular did I do to gain your disobedience this time?”

“I was doing my—“

“Do not say it. Unless they’ve stripped you of both your sense and your talent, we both know that is a lie. Are you still angry for being sent here?”

Dorian met his father’s eyes and Rilienus saw a hint of that spark return. Anger, hurt, frustration. Fury and helplessness. Indignation. “You  _ sent _ me here and hired thugs to do what you found too distasteful to do yourself. The Praeceptor wanted to make me Tranquil for defending myself.” Dorian spat the words out like bile, like venom. 

“Temporarily. For your own good, Dorian.” Magister Pavus dropped his arm like he’d been burned. “This place is supposed to help you.”

“With what, pray tell?” Dorian’s voice rose, his feet planted firmly into the dirt. “What were you hoping to find when you saw me again? An obsequious and docile doll who would dance to your tune? If that was the case, you failed. Failed to raise a son who bends like a bough. Failed to raise an empty-headed puppet.”

Dorian’s father turned to him, a thunderstorm in his eyes. “Do you wish to leave here? Or are you content to atrophy among the plebeians and delinquents?”

Rilienus held still in the dark, in the shadows. Hiding Dorian’s potential from the Praeceptor and the Praetor- it was the safest thing for him. The only way Rilienus could see to keep them both safe and let well enough alone. He hadn’t anticipated… this. Was the man so much of a fool that he actually thought Dorian might atrophy? He was always working. Always. His mind a swift needle through the fabric of reality. His will inescapable. His power overwhelming. 

What did his father expect? That he would be all those things  _ and _ obedient? Gods obeyed no one; they were meant to  _ be _ obeyed. Rilienus had accepted this; he could negotiate with Dorian, beg him, sweat beneath his hands until they were both satisfied, but he couldn’t force him to do anything. The performance of power amused Dorian because he was simply too strong to be cowed. His connection to the Fade, yes, but his spirit as well. Indomitable and beautiful as the rising sun. 

He’d thought Dorian’s desire to destroy the competition in the trials had been a result of his own desires, his own passion for his art. He’d thought he’d been helping him, helping them both. 

And yet. 

And yet perhaps he still had. Dorian could leave here. He could go with his father’s blessing. Return to the world he loved. Stretch his wings and fly free. Best. That was for the best. He’d learned the only lesson Rilienus had to teach, after all. He’d demonstrated that. The thought of losing him, of staring at his wall every day waiting for him to slip through the fabric of space to settle onto his desk or begin some debate on metaphysics or kiss Rilienus senseless… He looked at his hands, turning the rings one by one as he listened to the water course through the air. 

“You have my attention, Father,” Dorian said, his eyes filled with that yearning he’d seen so many times before. “What is it you wish of me?”

“There we are.” Pavus sounded like he’d won. Stood straighter, peaking his fingers. Dorian said nothing, listening to his father’s words with a measured expression. “Despite your repeated antics, I’ve managed to pique Radonis’ interest in your development. He’s considering taking an apprentice. Fostering your education until you’re ready to ascend to the Minrathous Circle. I’m not the one you should be impressing today, Dorian.”

“Freedom. Of a sort.” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “A position in the Archon’s household. This is your plan?”

“If my son plays his part.” 

“And if he chooses not to?” Dorian’s mouth was a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “What then, Father? Have me beaten until I bleed? Take away my mana and my mind?”

“Then he was never much of a son, was he?” Magister Pavus sighed, shaking his head. “Perhaps you  _ do _ need the Order. It seems your tenure has not yet had the intended effect. A few more years under the Maker’s eye could serve you well.”

“I have examinations to prepare for,  _ Dominus. _ I’d kindly appreciate it if you permitted me time to recall my lessons. I’m such a dreadfully slow learner.”

“Dorian—“ He laced his hands at his back, sighing. “Sometimes I wonder why I was cursed with you.”

“Likewise,” Dorian said, turning on his heels and stalking back to the preparation area, leaving his father standing, angry and bewildered, in the shade of the cascading falls.

Rilienus waited, watching the magister from the shadows as he gathered himself back together. And the expression on his face made Rilienus think of that day they’d talked about the seer in Antiva. The way Dorian had looked when he’d said that his father would never be proud of him, no matter what he did. Maybe it was true. Perhaps the magister was so busy trying to plan for who and what Dorian might become, he hadn’t any attention left to spare for who and what he already was. 

More. 

The precious minutes ticked away until Pavus finally departed the shade and sound of the waterfall and returned to the stands. Rilienus slipped from the shadows in his wake, rounding the columns and made his way to the tents.   


##  Dorian 

Artificing. His classmates would be showcasing projects they’d spent the past several weeks designing and building. Improving upon common devices, mostly, making them more efficient, stronger, longer lasting. Subtle methods to make the Imperium stronger, more comfortable.

Freedom. He could leave the Order, if he was able to impress Radonis’ representative. He could leave and return to the city. A modicum of independence.

Father was on the Archon’s consiliare; he had meetings with the man nearly every morning. He’d be able to keep a close eye on him—much closer than Dorian liked. It was only the illusion of liberty, then; he’d still be following his father’s scheme, subject to his will, under his gaze. 

Trapped. Exchanging one set of shackles for another.

And the ones he'd been wearing had long ago stopped chafing. He’d found peace in the Order. A clandestine sliver of the life he’d always been denied. The thought of leaving Rilienus in order to stand in the shadows behind the Archon’s seat made him feel ill.

He filled a goblet with chilled water, wiping perspiration from his brow, his mouth a thin line. While the other students were making final adjustments to their devices, he took a heavy seat on a nearby bench, trying to massage his growing headache away.

“If you have nothing better to do, Pavus,” a familiar voice murmured from his side. Warm. Even cloaked in apathy, he could feel the affection. He’d grown accustomed to those hidden lilts within Rilienus’ facade of disinterest. “There are preparations to be done for the next round. You could elect to make yourself useful.” 

“Concern for my ranking, Maecilia?” He raises his head, turning to face him, grim. “That makes one of us, then.”

“Concern for my own,” he tilted his head, brushing his fingers over the rings of his left hand. “Follow?” 

“I can’t very well deny you, can I, Dominus?” He stood, setting his glass aside. “What would you ask of me?”

“The staves for the dueling trial need to be inspected. You could join me instead of frittering your time here.”

“An excellent idea. Tampering with dueling staves can have disastrous effects, particularly with so many nearby spectators.” He brushed himself off with a stiff motion. “Lead the way.”

Rilienus dipped his head, tucking his hands back to his spine as he turned and headed back towards one of the preparation tents that wasn’t yet in use. He rested his fingers on the dark green canvas at the entrance for a moment, then whistled softly, peeling the wards apart to allow them entry. “You were brilliant,” he murmured as soon as the wards resealed behind them and he’d activated his personal web. “It's frustrating, I know, but you were  _ brilliant _ .” 

“I love you,” he exhaled, sighing. “I’m ready for this blasted day to be over.”

“Soon.” He gathered him close, his hands - warm, solid palms - pressing to his spine. Rilienus kissed his cheek. “Soon and then months of sweet anonymity.” He paused, “Or- Tonight. We have tonight, after it’s over. You deserve something suitably pleasant as a reward. Your choice. Anything you like.”

“Just to be close to you.” Dorian rested his forehead against Rilienus’ shoulder, breathing him in. “The details don’t matter.” He pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Father managed to find me,  _ amatus _ .”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I know. I… wasn’t certain you’d want to discuss it.” He cupped Dorian’s cheek, and those lips that could smirk so wickedly curved into a gentle smile. “I am on your side. Whatever that means. You know that?”

“I think you’re the only one.” Dorian nuzzled against him, relaxing slightly. “Come with me when I escape, Ril. We can figure out the details as we go.”

“It doesn’t sound as though you need to escape, my love,” he whispered. “You can walk right out of here. Even a glimpse of your potential would earn you that much. Radonis isn’t a fool. Risk or reward, he’ll want you close. I would, if I were him. Even if you weren’t so infernally handsome.”

“You heard that? All of it?” Dorian sighed, tugging him closer. “I suppose I should’ve known.”

“I have a terrible habit of snooping into other people’s business. When I saw him pull you aside, I-“ He rolled his eyes, “I should apologize, I suppose, but I won’t. That would be disingenuous. I am sorry he can’t see what you are.” Rilienus thumb traced his cheekbone, “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I asked you to hide that. You deserve to be seen.”

“I’m not taking his offer. Just in case you were wondering.”

“Either way. I mean it, Dorian. You need to do what is best for you. Only you can know what that is.” He wet his lips, offering a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes; warm forests with a red sunset piercing their canopy. “I am not fool enough to expect you to stay in a cage when you’re meant to fly. I may ask you to hide your wings, but that’s only so they won’t clip them.” He huffed wryly, “Or try.”

“A life on my own terms,” Dorian said quietly. “That’s not what my father offers. No. I need to win my freedom on my own.”

“You will, one way or another. Destiny doesn’t lie.” He kissed Dorian’s forehead gently. “You know I simply can’t stand you, yes? Unbearable. I can hardly take seeing you every night, nor waking to the sight of you. I’m in a state of exquisite misery.”

“More exquisite than the misery my absence would cause?” Dorian chuckled, tilting his chin downwards to meet his lips. “I should think not. I know your tells now,  _ amatus _ . You can hardly manage to fool me.”

“I don’t have tells,” he scoffed. “I simply elect not to deceive you.” There. There was that smirk, inviting and terrible at once. 

“Oh? You don’t then? That little glint in your eyes and twitch of your lips when you’re trying not to laugh was my imagination? You lick your bottom lip when you want to secret me away. Is that not a tell? Or when you’re angry and your brow creases just a little deeper than usual?” Dorian laughed, squeezing him tightly, the scent of sweat and dust and cut grass clouding his thoughts. 

“I love you. See that? I love you and, in a few scant hours, we’ll be on our own, where no one else can follow or trouble us. We can be exactly as we are meant to be, alone with our terribly saccharine truths.” He hummed against Dorian’s lips. “I shall endeavor not to be too cloying.”

“I very, very much look forward to being alone with you again.” Dorian sighed, running a hand along his cheek. “You didn’t happen to see Lethina’s display, did you? I was rather hoping nobody noticed.”

“I’m sure there’s someone here who missed it. You were clearly not the instigator; I doubt you’ll see any discipline for the infraction.” He frowned a little. “That’s… probably not why you asked, is it?”

“How do I get out of… whatever it is? I can’t well tell her I’m spoken for.”

“That’s exactly what you can do. You are. If you’re betrothed, there’s a record of that contractual agreement. I know. I saw my own burned at the magistrate’s.” Rilienus studied him, “It was an interesting choice for an opening gambit on her part. Risky, not in the best ways. You should have someone more clever, I think.” He wrinkled his nose, “Granted, I’m biased. She irritates me.”

“A handsome, clever prince trapped in a tower?” Dorian laughed against his lips. “You know I wasn’t speaking of my betrothal. A good idea though. A simple solution. If the woman I’m supposed to marry wasn’t infinitely worse, it would be a flawless plan.”

“Well. We’ll have to find you someone better. Someone better who doesn’t make me want to take a nutmeg grater to my eyelids.”

“We must consider those beautiful eyes of yours, certainly.” Dorian kissed his eyelids each in turn. “Is she truly that disdainful? She’s young and excitable and she gives me valuable information and if she’s noticed anything, she hasn’t breathed a word.”

“Gossips gossip. It’s in their nature to do so. Just as it is your nature to rebel, and mine to deceive.”

“I don’t believe deception is your nature. It’s just a trait you’ve developed in order to survive.”

“Regardless. She talks too much. I detest chatterboxes. They crave attention, and it rarely matters what sort they garner so long as they have it.” He sighed, “Best to handle her swiftly, unless… If your inclination is to answer her gambit in kind, she needs to be trained. And perhaps have some sort of seal placed about her head.”

“What manner of nonsense are you spouting now?”

“If you wish to marry her.” He made a face as though he’d just eaten fish paste. “She’s young enough. Perhaps her worst habits could be curbed somewhat.”

“I could just tell her that you intend to skulk around and share my bedchamber.” Dorian gave him a wicked grin. “That’ll very quickly end her suit.”

“And my own, if her jabbering and impulsiveness are any indicator.” He sniffed. “I can put together a list of alternatives. There’s two I can think of off the top of my head who aren’t dreadful. Then again, you’ll probably want someone from a better feeding ground. One of your former alma maters. I’m ill-equipped to research those options from here.”

“You must detest me so if you’re already trying to marry me off.” Dorian smiled, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “What if I told you I plan on eschewing matrimony entirely? I hadn’t realized it was an option before we met, but I have to admit, it’s appealing.”

Rilienus glanced away, a faint glint of something pleasing and ephemeral in his gaze. “And here I was preparing myself to haunt your halls and terrorize your spouse; it was going to be terribly droll. Hours of entertainment, at least.”

“You could still haunt my halls, you know.” Dorian touched his cheek, tilting his face again. “And there are other sorts of entertainment. You’re creative. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Can I still leap on you from your cupboards? I’ve been having some very interesting thoughts about the many uses of correspondence pockets.”

“You’re a menace.” He chucked, nuzzling against his cheek. “I won’t stop you. I don’t want to put limits on you.”

“Nor I on you.” Rilienus kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “No more cages, once we’re out of this one. Just a little while longer.” He smoothed his hand over the back of his head. “You’re prepared for the next two trials? Do you need anything? I’ve lyrium, embrium, elfroot…”

“A few more kisses would be pleasant.” Dorian smiled, staring into the depths of his eyes. “Other than that, no, I should be fine. I’m to keep my head down, remember? I don’t want my father to stop my education here prematurely.”

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured, sobering. “Whatever that’s worth. I’m extremely proud of you.”

“‘Whatever that’s worth?’” Dorian chuckled, pressing a kiss to his brows. “ _ Amatus _ , it’s everything.  _ You _ are everything. I’d show you, right now, if I didn’t think missing this exam would not only prevent me from advancing in my studies, but also mean that I’d find a lovely string of black pearls around my neck tomorrow.”

“You do show me.” He nudged Dorian’s nose with his own, tasting his lips. “In a myriad of ways, all day, each day, and I adore each and every one.” Rilienus stroked his hands down his sides, squeezing his hips. “Just focus on the exams. Take care of yourself. We’ll get through today, make love tonight, and worry about the rest tomorrow.”

Dorian felt the tension he’d held in his shoulders since he’d gained Lethina’s and his father’s attentions begin to dissipate, evaporating like morning dew into the air around them. He cupped Rilienus’ cheeks, pulling him close for a kiss, smiling against his lips, tasting the wine on his tongue. “A most wonderful plan,  _ mon rossignol.  _ I look forward to it.”

* * *

Dorian left the preparation tent a few minutes before Rilienus, feeling heartened, a warm buzz in his chest. They had a plan. He had no idea how his father would react to his performance, but they had a plan. To continue with what he’d started; perform well enough to place in nearly all of his exams, to advance, but without standing out. 

Halward Pavus hadn’t realized that his promise of freedom hardly interested Dorian anymore. He’d already captured a substantial enough piece of it in the Order to postpone his desire to escape. If he could keep his head down, spend his days navigating the corridors of the Tower and his nights in Rilienus’ chambers, he would be more than satisfied. Their tryst gave him hope for the present and the future; a glimmer of possibility that perhaps he could live authentically with someone he cared for.

His artificing exam went well enough. Third place, for an excellent design and concept, but with the prototype of the mana storage device still leaking a significant amount of energy, he couldn’t take a full victory. Professor Aelin gave him a commendation for ingenuity, but with the suggestion that perhaps he should attempt something a little less ambitious next time.

Thaumatugy followed in much the same fashion, with Dorian going last in the order, allowing him to make his flames burn just a bit dimmer and his magically-altered voice just a bit softer than one of his classmates. Second place. 

His rankings had been favorable, tied for third with the quarterstaff, third in artificing and illusion, and a second place. He’d be allowed to continue his studies and advance into subsequent classes, regardless of how his written examinations went the following week. Safe and secure, without giving away too much.

Dorian walked towards the stands again, passing Rilienus as he went to fill himself a glass of wine. Dueling was all they had left: Ril’s class first and then Dorian’s. His lover needed to advance to the semifinals to maintain a high enough ranking to serve the Praeceptor. He sat alone on the bench. Sevine was chatting with her brother and Lethina and Erend would be dueling. Not that he particularly wanted to speak to either of them at the moment.

He shifted as the names of the contestants appeared on the board.

Heritia. The Blighted ass. Rilienus was to face Heritia in the first round. Dorian clenched his fist around his goblet, exhaling sharply. They weren’t going to give him an easy time, apparently. Heritia was one of the better students in his class, if not terribly creative; he’d only seen him use a bit of frost and earth and wasn’t sure if he was capable of much else. Belligerent and dangerous, though. A stampeding druffalo. 

Dorian’s eyes were fixed on the two men as they took their weapons, their staves tightly clenched. Rilienus was all darting looks and hunched shoulders, a picture of nerves… He never would have shown a real weakness to Heritia - or anyone else - if he could help it. Could he not? Dorian was too far away to see the subtle movements that marked when Rilienus was putting on an act. The twitch of the corners of his lips, his brows. He couldn’t tell what he was feeling from this distance. 

Surprisingly, Heritia looked little better than Rilienus. He was jittery, completely unlike the apathetic guise he’d worn when he’d fought Dorian. Though, he wouldn’t have been able to cheat today. Less confident that he would win. 

But  _ why _ ? Rilienus was known to be a weak duelist. He’d heard it from Lethina and Erend, as well as from the other prefects when they chided him. Heritia should have been pleased at the match, not looking about the ring like he wanted to sprint out of it.

Both men stepped into their warded circle, staves held out, nearly shaking with apparent anxiety. Dorian wanted to rush the field, but was forced to content himself with sipping his wine, the nails of his other hand digging into the skin of his thigh.

Professor Kailish read out the rules-Heritia would no doubt do his best to ignore them-with a magically magnified voice. A yield ends the fight. Incapacitation for more than five seconds ends the fight. Disarming ends the fight. No potions or tonics. Spells only, no physical hits with a staff. No beheading. No outside influence or attempts to tamper with the wards around the ring. The usual lot. 

Heritia twitched, muttering to himself, looking around before finally narrowing his eyes on Rilienus. And as soon as the call was sounded, he was already casting, sending ice streaming across the ring as Rilienus threw himself bodily to the ground to avoid being hit. It seemed like the only safe place in the ring as volleys of ice shards like daggers flew in every direction, sending ripples through the circle’s wards. 

No shield. Why wasn’t he shielding? Why the Void wasn’t he using that damned staff in his hand? Dorian bit his lip, his eyes trained on Rilienus sprawled on the ground, arms over his head.

Heritia screamed, charging across the ring towards him, swinging his staff up and over his head like a mallet amid mutters of ‘foul’ from the assembled students. 

“Did you forget you were a mage?” Dorian called out, his voice lashing through the field like the crack of a whip. “Or did you spend all of your mana already?”

Rilienus rolled as the staff hit where his head had been, scrambling to his feet, gravel pouring from his robes. Heritia roared again and slammed his staff into the ground, sending out a ripple through the ground that threw his opponent prone once more, spitting gravel and blood as he peered back over his shoulder. Heritia cracked the earth again, snarling, and a stronger wave shuddered the ground beneath him, throwing Rilienus up into the air, bouncing off the warded wall to catapult back to the still rippling earth - a crumple of flesh and cloth. 

It was hardly a duel at all. Heritia cast blindly, with no aim whatsoever, sending Rilienus scrambling around the ring like a frightened rabbit. He hadn’t cast  _ once _ , not even so much as a shield. At this rate, he was going to end up injured. It was dreadful to watch and Dorian was having a hard time keeping his eyes on the match. He wanted desperately to sink into the stands, to charge through the wards, anything to stop the awful display from continuing.

Dorian felt a sharp snap as the stem to his wine glass broke away from the bowl, spilling its contents onto the dirt at his feet. He must’ve been holding it too tightly. He cursed under his breath about faulty stemware and turned his eyes back towards the ring just in time to see it bloom with light.

The rays bent, blended, and danced, filling the entirety of the warded bulb with shifting colors. Kaleidoscopic, like sunlight through stained windows, so fiercely bright that it was nearly blinding.

A wail rose from inside of that mesmerizing globe and as the light dimmed, he saw Heritia knee deep in the dirt and sinking fast, thrusting his staff out to search for some sort of solid ground to drag himself back out, but everywhere he touched seemed to melt away. Rilienus had backed as far away as he could get, bloodied, his eyes wide with surprise and horror… 

Something had gone very wrong with Heritia’s casting - that much was clear; perhaps as a result of his disorientation? It was possible that transmuting the earth to move like water had disrupted it so that it behaved that way, opening beneath him like quicksand. Whatever it was, Heritia was chest deep in the ground and screaming for help by the time the cancellations and counterspells were cast to put an end to the workings inside the ring and a shaken-looking Rilienus was named the victor by default. 

He moved to the benches and slumped down, watching with those same wide eyes as Kailish pulled Heritia from the earth and escorted him to the side. 

Dorian stood from the stands, crossing the yard to replace his wine. Just before he began to pour, he flicked his wrist, ostensibly shaking it out. Rilienus would feel a tingle before words began to appear on his skin in golden ink. 

_ Cave, quaeso, philomela mea. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Cave, quaeso, philomela mea. Please be careful of my nightingale.


	18. the weariness, the fever, and the fret (3/3)

##  Rilienus

Rilienus scrubbed his hands over his face as he listened to the other duels finish. His palms were raw and there was blood staining the knees of his trousers, but he was still in the running. Not quite as he would have liked, but there hadn’t been time to be clever. He’d had to cast methodically, because that was what Kailish expected to see. More, that was what Quaeren needed to see - slow and lacking confidence. Reactive casting was a skill he had to keep in reserve for when he left this place - one last hidden talent in case his plans didn’t work and he had to defend himself. 

But Heritia had been more difficult than he had anticipated. Two weeks without restful sleep had done quite a lot to curb the man’s more blatant aggression in the halls and classrooms of the tower - and it had been entertaining to watch his bluster wither as his exhaustion grew. But in that ring, he’d been at the edge of his tether. 

He pressed his knuckle to his lip, dabbing blood away, and frowned as he felt a tingle against his forearm. He glanced down, peering down his sleeve to see the faint glow of golden ink.  _ Cave, quaeso, philomela mea. _

Ah, but he was trying. Short and long-term. Games within games. 

He smoothed salve over his split lip and his palms, dragging the legs of his pants up to treat his other wounds as he showcased them. Straddling the line - weak enough to be non-threatening and skilled enough to hold his place among his peers. At least for now. He would have to give up the protection of being a prefect soon enough - at least by his final year. He had to finish his time here as a waning, mediocre talent. Middling. Infinitely middling. 

Infuriating. He huffed, bracing his head between his knees. For now, he needed this position and the perks that came with it - not only for himself, but also for Dorian. A living ward. A shield for them both. He raked his fingers back through his hair, lifting his head as the next round’s competitors were called. 

Lethina. 

He sighed, dragging himself to his feet and collecting his staff. The girl smiled brightly as he joined her in the ring; she was still flush from her first victory and doubtless from her own daring earlier in the day. “Looks like Heritia was tough! You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured, watching her warily from his place against the circle’s edge. He felt the whiff of the shield as it rose behind him, wards sealing them into the ring together.

“Alright! If you say so!” The sound of Lethina’s laughter rang like bells as the duel was called and she joyously summoned her mana. She always took such joy from her casting. Eager and bright. Water materialized from the air in glistening droplets, coalescing into a spinning lance in her hands. “Incoming!” she called out a warning before she threw. 

Rilienus dodged rather than shielding. It was becoming ridiculous now. He had several shields of differing varieties and strengths, but he’d only ever demonstrated one of them and it wouldn’t hold against her lances. He knew that. So did she. She’d caught him with it in class only a week before. So he went to the ground and the lance soared past him, splashing against the ward behind him. Lobs. She was giving him gentle lobs because she expected him to fold.  _ Just give up _ , she seemed to say as she breathed deep, watching him as she drew her mana into her staff. And she would leave the ring boasting of how she’d been so easy on him. Poor, slow Rilienus. 

He cast his lights again, but Lethina threw up a smoky shield to disperse them. She’d been expecting it; paying attention to the other students even as she won her first round. He stayed low when she pushed the smoke back towards him, whistling quietly to pull at the threads that controlled her shield. Child’s play. Smoke and fire were cousins; they wanted to spread and expand, their patterns built to grow. So he let it spread. Twisting. Growing thicker and darker until she disappeared inside of it.

The sound of her coughing replaced her laughter as Rilienus crawled away from where he’d fallen. He smelled the pull of ozone and fresh water in the air before he felt the droplets. Rain. Clever girl. He knelt leveling his staff towards the sound of her coughing fit and waited for the water to settle the smoke. As soon as he saw her, he fired two blasts. Basic arcana, one of the first spells they’d been taught, but the first caught her off guard. The second cracked into the side of the shimmering diamond shield and Rilienus silently cursed Dorian for having taught her that damned spell. He wasn’t going to be breaking through that with anything he could show and her narrowed eyes and slight smile told him she was well aware of that. 

She spun her staff and the wind whipped cold, freezing the wet drizzle of ash on his cheeks and shoulders. “I was trying to be friendly, Prefect Maecilia.”

“I noticed,” he murmured, just barely restraining the chattering of his teeth for a clear comment. 

“You can still yield.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” 

“You won’t win.”

“Nevertheless.” He drew himself for his feet, backing slowly away as the cold bit into his skin. He exhaled, wrapping himself in a light layer of his own heat, and met her gaze for a moment before he hummed his mana into his staff and let it release into the ground, song, light blooming from the leaves of grass and crumpled weeds that had struggled up through the gravel. Color and sound, brightness to drive out the dark. It caught at her shield, refracting through harmlessly, bouncing from the opposite side of the diaphanous bubble. It built inside of her shield, the rays bounding faster and faster until she was sweating and scowling in her own bubble of increasing heat. 

“Cheat.”

“Physics,” he corrected her lightly.

She hissed, the kohl dripping from her eyes down her cheeks, as she threw her arms wide. 

Oh, that wasn’t good. He flicked his attention from her to the ground, watching for the telltale twists of air and shifts in the pattern of the Veil that would denote where she planned to summon… whatever she was planning to bring through. The last thing he wanted was a defensive game against spirits; there were far too many ways that could go wrong. He darted towards the tear as soon as he spotted it and dragged the end of his staff through it, unwinding the circle and leaving a trace of his power in place as a marker to keep another from being called in its place… only to see a second circle twist across the ring. He ran again and dragged his power through it again, whistling reinforcement into his staff. 

Again and again, she attempted to cast and he physically broke her summons before she could complete them until she was staring daggers at him; sweat gathered on her forehead and dripped down her cheeks, matting her golden locks from the shield she refused to drop. She was hovering with the force of the mana she’d been forced to draw, some internal wind she’d summoned whipping those wet strands of hair around her like a mythical monster. As he closed the sixth of her summoning circles, she snarled and drifted towards him, calling water from the air around her again- 

And he had her. He knew as soon as she crossed the sixth line. And she knew it too as he tapped the ground with the end of his staff and the ward grew up around her, seamlessly imprisoning her inside the star he’d drawn between her casting points. 

She cast and had to duck to avoid being hit by her own lance. Trapped. She pressed her staff directly to the shimmering edge of his shield and thrust raw mana into it. It bucked like fabric with the force, shivering, but didn’t tear. She cast a summoning circle inside, drawing gleaming, glittering water sprites through to beat and tear at the shield. Angry. She was so angry, so furious, so impotent in her little cage that she wasn’t thinking. He backed away, glancing out of the circle. 

“Professor!” he called and pointed. The sprites were friendly and accommodating spirits - mischievous and eager - but she had trapped them inside along with her. Imprisonment was anathema to spirits of that disposition- a fact she would have remembered if she hadn’t been so dead set on punishing him for his checkmate - and the poor things began to warp as soon as their circumstances became apparent. Their hands elongated, twisting, their soft blue hue darkening into something like ink. Kailish sprinted in to cancel the wards and banish the developing demons back through the Veil. 

Lethina stepped towards him, “He cheated.”

“That was a basic warding mine, Palinas. We learned it months ago.” Kailish shook his head, pointing out of the ring. “And you know better than to summon sprites inside any ward, let alone one that small. Go take your seat.”

“I see you, Maecilia,” she scowled, turned, and stalked off the field.

He rather doubted that she did. He glanced up, startled as Kailish rested a hand on his shoulder. “Well done calling my attention. She could have been seriously hurt.”

“Yes, Professor.” He tucked his hands to his spine and crossed back to the benches to pour himself a cup of watered wine. No. She would not do. Gossipy. Too quick to lose her head. He sipped from his cup. 

“Clever use of wards.”

He glanced towards the boy from Dorian’s little duckling trail. “Thank you.”

He nodded, tucking his heels up on the edge of the bench, nodding towards the last two rings of the round. “It’s you and me next.”

He inclined his head and took a seat on the other end of the bench. “I suspect you’re correct.”

A buzz on his wrist while the boy was turned to watch the finishing matches.  _ Aie pitié de ma pauvre femme. _

His eyes narrowed and he turned to glance back over his shoulder. Where was the snickering demon of a fellow?

“I hadn’t thought about the light inside that shield, either,” Erend said quietly. Was it Erend? Erik? Chatterbox the second. 

“Neither had I,” he lied. He’d thought about it the first time he’d seen the exquisite marvel around Dorian in the dueling hall. The first of two flaws to an otherwise perfect structure…

“It has more downfalls than I thought.”

Why was he still talking? Rilienus finished his wine and passed the small clay cup back and forth between his hands. “Fortunately,” he answered, “you learned that before you were burned.”

“Yes. Fortunately.” There was a sort of subtle determination in the boy as he stared at his hands, replacing his usual cheer. Normally his joyful blathering was more than enough to rival his female compatriot. Not at the moment. He looked as though he had something to prove, likely something to do with the uncomfortable encounter Lethina had orchestrated earlier in the stands. “Your lights. More devastating than I thought. I missed what happened to Heritia, but I saw him sinking into the ground. Was that your doing?”

“I don’t know what he did,” he watched the final pair scrambling out of the way of each other’s elemental lances.  _ Or why you think I’d tell you one way or another, _ he added silently, gritting his teeth. How long did he need to hold out in this one? Could he yield now? Claim his injuries from the previous fights and take a nap? No. A show of attempt at least. He sighed. “I was as blind as everyone else.”

“What would I have to do to get you to teach me the light trick?” The boy turned to face him, his mouth a thin line as he dusted some residual gravel off of his robe. “I might have a use for it against Pavus’ shield.”

“What’s that?”

“Does it matter?” He shifted, running a hand through long brown curls. “Will you teach me or not?”

“It matters if it’s within the boundaries of the accepted uses as outlined by the Praetor and the Father Superior.” He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me how you’ll use it and I’ll decide if I can teach you.”

“Oh, come off it.” The boy snorted. “Academic interest. I’ve been using the shield myself and I want to know its weaknesses. And--” He paused, apparently considering the skeptical look in Rilienus’ eyes. “In case I ever find myself in a duel with him. I’ll need all the help I can get. I’d imagine Pavus is a nightmare to fight after watching how easily he dispensed with Heritia. Though I suppose you managed that too, in a sense.”

Rilienus frowned. “Why would you find yourself in a duel with him? He’s not in our class.”

“If you don’t want to show me, then just say so. No need to act so obtuse.”

“It’s the responsibility of my position to see to the ethics and personal growth of the other students in the Order. I am happy to show you whatever you need, so long as I understand its intended use.” He lifted his brow. “I don’t know what you mean by obtuse.”

“Nevermind.” He huffed, standing. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t know why I thought you’d have the wherewithal to help anyone other than yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffed, lifting his chin. “But you should learn to respect your elders. I hope you do. For your sake.”

“By Her light, Dominus. I will heed your words.” The boy bowed, frowning, his eyes as hard as glass. “The other rounds have finished, shall we make our way back across the yard? I look forward to meeting your strength.”

Rilienus allowed himself a small smirk at his back and watched him go. Shame he had to lose this round. He was so off balance he could have been nudged over with just the right amount of force. Nonetheless, he had what he needed. And perhaps a victory would ease the boy’s wounded pride. He followed him across the field and stepped inside the ring, hanging back to the edge as was his tendency. “Good fortune to you,” he murmured as the wards sealed around them. 

The moment the bell sounded, the boy’s staff was in the air, jettisoning a plume of fire in his direction. The heat seared as it approached, pouring down above Rilienus’ head like lava.

He threw himself to the side and hissed as his knees and elbows hit the gravel, drawing his mana to cast the one shield Kailish had seen him use. He had no intention of catching fire; certainly not to soothe anyone’s bruised ego. He’d barely managed to cast it before the second plume raged towards him. The heat made him sweat, but the flames parted around him. He whistled more mana, gathering the spare between his fingers like thread, as he whiffed a weak fireblast across the ring in response. 

The boy cast Dorian’s shield as the flaming line of energy thudded against it before dispelling the sparkling barrier. His feet nearly lifted off the ground as he brought his staff up higher, casting--something. A sphere appeared in the center of the ring and Rilienus felt himself being tugged towards it, his feet starting to slip on the gravel. His opponent looked at him with a wry grin as Rilienus was pulled away from his spot on the edge of the ring.

He could see more than the boy’s smirk. The patterns of the spell were old, twisting around him, a rote, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be altered. A twitch of one thread. A tug of one of six different elegantly woven strands that gleamed in his mind's eye and he could have let the boy bury himself in gravel, or build the pressure of the air above him to such a degree that it would crack his staff, or… He widened his eyes and let the spell draw him closer. At least Erend wouldn’t be likely to try to catch him on fire again at arm's length. 

“Fight me, Maecilia,” Erend called out, his arms still overhead, holding on to his staff as the abyss brought Rilienus closer. His voice was strained, wavering. Wanting to prove something, indeed. “Stand your ground and fight me.”

What a bother. Not only a defeat but a performance? He made a show of trying to catch himself in the moving gravel. A misty step. A slight rend through the fabric of space and he could have returned to the edge of the ring. He imagined the pull of the spell as hands, purple lilac hands that wanted to move him, puppet him, turn him into the useless block of wood he seemed to be. He could have thrown any spell, anything at all, and it would have poured right into the boy without error. Erend. Yes, it was definitely Erend. He’d remember that now. He shouted that frustration and stumbled again. 

Erend allowed the spell to continue to drag Rilienus closer, until he could see the details of his sky blue irises. His brows knotted together and he murmured, loud enough so that only Rilienus could hear, staring over his hunched body like a predator. 

“I don’t know why you’re protecting him, but by the Maker’s light, I will find out.”

Rilienus stared at him, maintaining his mask of horror. “Bana’s one of ours. If you ever belonged to anything, maybe you’d understand loyalty.” That wasn’t what Erend was talking about. He could only hope he’d throw the boy off course. 

“To the Void with you,” Erend spat, tilting his staff and summoning a wave of energy that slammed into Rilienus and threw him against the edge of the ring, his body smashing against the ward like a rag doll. 

He let his arms fly wide and clipped one of his threads with his pinky, cracking his staff in his impact. Done. Well and done. No more heart to hearts with Dorian’s pets. He landed on the ground and scrabbled for the broken staff, letting dismay cross his expression. Don't find out, he thought, lifting his gaze as he yielded. Maker knew he had enough blood on his hands.   
  


##  Dorian

He’d never seen the expression Erend wore when he dueled Rilienus darken the younger boy’s face before. Dorian felt guilty; he needed to speak with him, or get Sevine to intervene on his behalf. Lethina had been as much a surprise to him as it must have been to Erend. Surely he’d understand? 

What he couldn’t fathom was why he’d take his aggression out on Rilienus. Erend hadn’t acted like that for his other duels; he’d seemed disoriented, winning, but just barely. Perhaps it was just his status as a prefect and the fact that Heritia had been bullying him for months with no intervention from the Praeceptor. Maybe he blamed Rilienus for that. 

Or maybe he associated him with Dorian. After almost two weeks of Rilienus following him around like a shadow, he could see why that might be the case.  _ Maker _ , he hadn’t realized he could cause such ire, especially in his supposed friends.

Regardless, the sight of Rilienus being tossed about the ring made him feel ill. He tapped Sevine’s elbow and nodded towards Erend, silently asking her to check in on him. His bout had finished first and the others were still engaged. 

She stood, sighing, and crossed the yard to where Erend sat, his expression grim and sullen, even in victory. 

Dorian needed a drink. He was more than ready for the damned day to be over. Ridiculous, the entire display, and he still had his own duels, a feast, and a dance to sit through. He poured himself another glass of wine while the rest of the duels wrapped up. A second glass as Erend stood across from Linaea and the bells sounded. A third when he was named the victor. 

Good for him. Dorian hoped it would sweeten his sour mood. 

He sighed, making his way across the dueling yard, wanting to collapse into the ground. Exhausted. It was exhausting to try and gauge his peers’ reactions and skills and place himself squarely in the middle. More difficult that he realized it would be. 

But dueling. He was allowed one win. And by the Maker’s light, it would be a resounding triumph.

Dorian took his place across from Prefect Bana, feeling just a little lightheaded from the drink. His class only had four students, including himself, and they would each fight all of the others. Four more duels. Four more duels until he could go back to his room to change, two hours before the feast would begin. Two hours was plenty of time to let loose some of the tension that had built in his belly. He could sneak away and hold Rilienus for a while, forget the rest of the day’s nonsense. 

The bell called and Bana began waving his staff above his head in a tight circle, summoning a ring of fire. Dorian gave him a good two seconds before he grew bored, snapped his fingers, dispelling the magic, and tapped his staff against the ground lightly. 

Bana was encased in a cube of ice, three meters thick in every direction. Dorian counted aloud to five and Kailish broke the ward, releasing them both. He allowed the ice to melt off his opponent, soaking the ground. 

Bana made a move to cast again, but Kalish disarmed him with a wave of his hand, shouting that the match was over. 

Dorian sat on one of the benches near the ring, sighing, wishing he could just get them over with, but Lamonis and Sevine were still engaged, the former spewing earth and flame and the latter water and bolts of arcane energy. Finally, blessedly, Lamonis seemed to run out of mana and stumbled trying to dodge one of her water lances, before being hit squarely in the chest with an arcane bolt. His teeth chattered as he held up his hands, yielding the field to her. 

He stood again, taking his place in the ring as Lamonis caught his breath, his dark hair frazzled from Sevine’s spell. Dorian frowned, tilting his head. 

“If you’re not feeling well--” he began, raising his eyebrow.

Lamonis shook his head violently. “To arms, Pavus. I’m not afraid of you.”

Dorian sighed, leaning on his staff as the ward sealed them in. “Suit yourself.”

A prison of lightning surrounded his opponent, trapping him in place, his hair standing on end. Whenever he moved, a jolt of electricity arced, causing his entire body to tense. Lamonis tried to cast, to dispel it, but nothing seemed to effect the cage. He spat on the ground, causing another spark from the spell to electrocute him before raising his hands and yielding.

Two down. Only one duel left before he was free. Dorian examined his fingernails, looking for chips, apparently bored. 

He didn’t watch Sevine make short work of Bana, but he was grateful for her expediency. He rose before the prefect had left the circle, crossing the yard and handing her a glass of water with a small smile. 

“I’ve been waiting all day for this, Pavus,” she said, a low laugh from her chest, chugging the ice cold water. “A worthy opponent, finally.” Sevine looked at the bench where Lamonis and Bana were both breathing heavily. “Don’t tell the prefects. Wouldn’t want to embarrass them, eh?”

“They seem to be quite capable of managing that for themselves.” He took her glass and set it outside of the ring, running his hand along his staff. “One final show, I suppose?”

She nodded, crossing to the other side of the circle, preparing her weapon as Kalish enclosed them with their final ward. “Don’t go easy on me, Dorian. I want a real fight.”

Dorian bowed his head with a crooked smile. “Finally, someone who deserves it.”

She beamed, spinning her staff, and he felt a crackle in the air as the bell called the start of the match- a moment before she cast… what? There was no effect that he could see. No water lances or fields of ice- Only a certain vibrancy in the air around him, pinging, pinching. “Come on. Let’s see.”

Dorian hesitantly sent a handful of sparks into the air, wanting to gauge the effect of her spell, watching her expression carefully. 

Her smile widened as the sparks arced back towards him from an invisible barrier, stinging her hand. “Yield?” she winked.

“And ruin your fun?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Not likely.” 

“Good! I’ve been wanting to see someone break this.”

“But you’re not going to just let me stand here and think, are you? Where’s the fun in that?”

“You jest. It’s like trapping a lightning bug in a jar!” she giggled, “but if you insist-“ She passed her staff from hand to hand, winding it in a circle around herself, and the stinging of her ward increased on his skin. Reversing even the tiniest flexes of his power back to him. “If I win this, my mother’s going to send me an entire chest of Rivaini spirit wine. I’ll share it with you.”

“Bribery. You’ll find I’m not so easy to sway with bribery. As much as I love Riviani spirit wine.” He closed his eyes, hearing a buzzing in his ears, focusing on his breathing. There was a tingling on his skin from her shield as his mana began to leak into the field, but only a slight discomfort as he wasn’t trying to draw on his power. He began to feel the emptiness of the Void, stretching out all around him. His muscles began to relax, his feet firmly planted into the ground. 

Focused. At peace. Hollow. 

A current. Simple. From Sevine to the spell to his body. He could feel her power being tugged through the channel he’d created, through  _ him _ . Empty. A goblet being filled slowly with arcane energy as she watched.

“You’re up to something,” she wrinkled her nose, still grinning. “I’ve tried every spell in the book for this. Fair warning. Try not to hurt yourself.”

“Not in a book,” he replied, his voice growing distant as he sunk deeper into the trance, feeling the borders of her power become more crisp and distinct. Her magic was playful, but efficient, swift and clever. A dolphin dipping in and out of choppy waves. “At least not one that’s written yet.”

“Oooh,” she chuckled. “I like it. Very vague and cryptic. Add some smoke and lighting effects, why don’t you? Oh, that’s right. Can’t.”

Dorian felt like he was floating, waves lapping at his ankles again, sand squishing beneath his toes as he sunk deeper into the water. Surrounded by a school of fish, swimming about his face, dipping in and out of the water, nearly giggling with energy. 

Breathing. What was breath in a sea of mana? A lake of power? Dorian opened his mouth and drank it in, inhaling her energy, pulling her power away from her. The fish began to dart wildly, panicked, but they couldn’t swim against the current once it’d been created. Tingling. His skin was still tingling, buzzing from her shield. He siphoned her energy like water through an aqueduct, letting it flow through his empty center into the Fade. Hungry, it was always hungry, despite being a place of magic itself.

He felt when she realized it, when her power began to struggle against that current. “Stop-“ her voice was thready, panicked. “Stop. Stop it. Stop.” As from a distance, across the lake, echoing from the horizon. “Stop,” she shouted, “I yield!”

Dorian blew her magic back towards her, emptying again, and opened his eyes, feeling exhausted. “Satisfied?”

She stared at him as the wards around them dropped. “You’re going to show me that trick, Pavus.” 

“I can’t go about giving away all of my secrets, now, can I?” He chuckled, giving a weak smile. “Someone spent years on that spell. Better get studying, my friend.”

“A chest of spirit wine,” she repeated, poking him in the chest. “You owe me. I want to know what that was. You hear me?”

The standings appeared on the board as Bana and Lamonis finished their bout. First, easily. Hopefully not enough of a victory to convince his father to pull him from the Order to go work with the Archon. 

“If I remember correctly, it was your mother who was to give you the wine, not me. But, I’ll replace the wine for you, my dear, if you drop the matter entirely,” Dorian said, stepping out of the ring. “Two crates, even. Feeling generous. Now let’s get out of this dusty arena. I’d like a long bath and possibly a nap.”

“Dorian,” she whinged, tucking her arm through his. “Please tell me. Please.”

“I made a promise.” He replied stiffly. “I don’t go back on my word. No matter how many bottles of Riviani wine are proffered. You’ll have better luck at teaching a horse to whistle than getting me to teach you that spell.”

“If I bring you a whistling horse, then?” she asked, smiling winningly despite her loss.

“ _ No _ .” Dorian rolled his eyes. “No wine, no whistling horses, no bargains of any sort. I’ll teach you the static cage if you’d like. It’d be deadly with your watershaping.”

“Alright, deal,” she kissed his cheek. “We’ll discuss the rest at a later date.”

“Why is everyone  _ kissing  _ me all of a sudden?” Dorian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Is the world going mad? Do you and Lethina both have death wishes?”

“It’s called being friendly,” she chuckled. “Well. Mine is. Mother kisses all her good friends. I can’t begin to guess what’s possessed Lethina. Well. I can. What’s surprising to me is how it’s surprising to you.”

His voice dropped low and he looked around. Nobody was near enough to hear them, from what he could tell. “Did I ever give her any indication that I was interested? I don’t know why she would assume--”

“You don’t give an indication of much towards anyone. That’s fine. I don’t want to be trapped into something meaningless here when I have a whole wonderful meaningless relationship waiting for me once I leave. But a lot of our class are planning ahead. You get along with Leth, don’t you? What’s the harm?”

“Sure,” he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “She’s a kind and clever girl. Kind enough and clever enough that I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life lying to her. Is that wrong?”

“What’s marriage but a room where two people lie to each other every day?” She shrugged. “She likes you. I’m sure she’ll understand. Why wouldn’t she?”

“Understand why I can’t marry her?”

“I imagine so. If you explain it to her.”

He turned to her, eyes wide, his heart suddenly racing as a mortar dropped into his stomach. “Explain what? What should I explain? I don’t have anything that warrants explaining.”

Sevine crossed her arms, peering up at him. “Explain that you don’t like her in that way,” she lifted a brow. “Kindly. Carefully. She’s delicate.” She rolled her eyes. “Not tonight. Just be nice while everyone’s here. You’re good at that. Being nice. When you want to be.”

“Yes. Of course.” Safe. Somehow still safe. He relaxed slightly, his muscles still tight around his jaw. “Can you speak to Erend for me? He looked like he wanted to immolate Maecilia earlier.”

“So?” she asked, tucking back against his side as they rounded the arena. “Who doesn’t?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he wants to immolate me too. I’d like to avoid that and remain friends, if possible.”

“Tell him what you told me.” She winced, “Oh. Maybe don’t. Alright. I will talk to him. But. I am not your seneschal. I require payment for services rendered.”

“Damnit.” He clenched his fist, wanting to sink into the earth. This entire Blighted day. “Fine. You’re dreadful. 

“I know,” she beamed.

“I’ll teach you the fucking spell, if you promise not to show anyone else or use it while I’m still here. And… Keep my business to yourself. Please. I like Lethina and Erend, but—“

“I’m your favorite, I know.” She smiled, sparkling, as she turned away. “Perhaps less one,” she added under her breath with a smirk. 

“Sevine, what are you on about, now?” 

“Emptying myself in preparation to learn that spell, my friend. Just mentally preparing.” She lifted her brows at him over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know when I’ve spoken with him, yes?”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ . Yes.” He waved her off, breath catching in his throat. Not safe. Void take them all. “And go and mentally prepare elsewhere, if it pleases you. I’m feeling faint.”

“I’m sure you are, Pavus. I’m sure you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Aie pitié de ma pauvre femme. Have pity on my poor wife.


	19. singest of summer in full-throated ease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't really NSFW, but has some relationship/sex talk, flirting, and kink negotiation.   
> After getting whacked in the practice yard, I guess they're in a mood. XD

##  Rilienus

Rilienus rested his cheek on the desk, feeling the cool wood grain against his skin as the salve he’d spread over himself worked its magic. Bruises slowly fading, cuts mending themselves. If only it didn’t take his own skill to repair what had been done to his robes. He would have liked to lie on the floor and sleep through the feast. The idea of having to perform like a dancing monkey at Quaeren’s side for an hour, two, three- He groaned. At least he was busy enough with the other magisters on campus to not mind Rilienus’ absence  _ before _ the feast. Thank the Maker for infinitesimal favors. “Fuck me,” he sighed.

“Is that a request,  _ mon rossignol _ ?”

Dorian’s appearances and disappearances had become so frequent, he barely felt even a trickle of surprise. He lifted his head, turning to peer at him. 

Dorian stood cheerily near the portal, leaning against the adjoining wall, a large, gray clothing bag slung over his shoulder and a crooked smile on his face. His hair was still sweat-damp from his duels.

“Always. Though, you’ll have to do all the work,” he smiled, offering his hand. “I’ve been thrown about like a magister’s voting cloth today.”

“I saw that, unfortunately.” Dorian crossed the room, worry knotting his brow as he touched Rilienus’ shoulder. “How are you feeling now?”

“Salves and tonics. Better by the moment. Much better with you here,” he twined his fingers with Dorian’s and kissed the back of his hand. “You’re a colossal trouble. You know that, don’t you? Emptying her into the Fade.” He tutted. “If you hadn’t been able to get it back...”

“I was. I’m more trouble than that, too, I’m afraid.” Dorian took his hand and gripped it tightly. “Sevine knows. I’m almost certain of it. I saw it in her eyes. She knows  _ about us _ .”

He glanced up sharply, his pulse throbbing in his ears. “What do you mean she knows about us? What could she possibly know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“We hardly see each other outside of this room anymore. There’s no-” Rilienus hissed. “Your Erend thinks I’m protecting you. Maker knows why.” He met Dorian’s eyes. “What- I don’t understand how they’ve come to these conclusions.”

“You  _ are _ protecting me.” He whispered. “They saw us when I wore the Eye. You never once hit me in public, even after I gave you cause.”

“I’ve never hit  _ anyone _ in public. It’s mortifying.” He growled under his breath, “And that was  _ weeks _ ago.”

“It might have been that incident in front of the dormitories? Or perhaps someone saw us on the battlements? Or... It doesn't really matter, does it? She knows, Ril; she suggested as much after our match. I don’t think she’ll tell anyone, but she’s—“ Dorian sighed, shaking his head. “She might try to use me.”

“Suggested,” he stared at their joined hands. “What did she  _ say _ ? Did she say that she- What did  _ you _ say?”

“I asked her what to do about Lethina. Asked her to talk to Erend on my behalf. He looked at you like he wanted to burn you alive. I have no idea why, except—“ Dorian tilted his chin, meeting Rilienus’ eyes. “What did you tell him,  _ amatus _ ?”

“He asked me to show him my light spell. I told him I would if he explained what he planned to use it for. He said he would need ways past your shield if he dueled you. I explained that wasn’t very likely to happen.” He shrugged. “Everyone forgets we’re not only bullies and brats. Prefects do actually have responsibilities; one of those is to uphold the rules - Don’t start with me, Pavus. I said nothing off-color, nor anything that would have given any sign- Nothing I wouldn’t have said to anyone else who’d asked me for a spell or a ward. I don’t  _ need _ to protect you; I’m entirely certain you can protect yourself. From him, at the very least. He telegraphs his casting and did you see him using the Pull of the Abyss without a barrier? Reckless and stupid. It was an effort to lose.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Dorian exhaled sharply. “And he thought you were protecting me because of that response? Just that?” 

“That was all.” He swallowed, searching Dorian’s gaze. Steel and silver, worried and tired. He rose and wrapped his arm around him, not letting go of his hand. “I won’t lose you. Your ducklings can all go hang.”

“You won’t lose me,” Dorian murmured, pressing his nose into Rilienus’ hair, breathing against him. “Please don’t hang anyone.”

“It’s a figure of speech. But I am not going to let your interfering sycophants threaten or manipulate us.” He pressed his cheek to the side of Dorian’s head. “You can handle them or I will.”

“They should see the look in your eyes when you actually  _ are _ trying to protect me.” Dorian pressed a kiss to his temple. “They’d think twice about saying anything to me at all. I’ll take care of it. Whatever ‘it’ is. I’m not quite sure yet. Sevine will probably be placated with alcohol, treats, and learning new spells. She’s the most clever of the three. And she may well have a few secrets of her own that are worth looking into.”

“I do enjoy opposition research,” he hugged him tightly. This man. This one. These moments where they could be and breathe and hold. Just hold him. Among other things. “I suspect that Erend is angry and jealous and guessing wildly in hopes of catching on some morsel he can use. Unless one of them saw something, though I can’t think what they might have seen; I would know if my wards had fallen.” He frowned, feeling his breath reflected back to his lips in the shell of Dorian’s ear. “ _ Ta pauvre femme. _ What do you plan to do with her?”

“It was my intention to let her down gently,” Dorian said quietly. “After tonight. Too many people here for privacy. Did you expect something different from me?”

“I expect nothing. I only asked.” He frowned. “If it comes to choosing someone… If Sevine can be reasoned with, and if she  _ has _ figured us out - she doesn’t make me want to vomit.”

“Are we going to spend the course of our relationship with you trying to marry me off?” Dorian chuckled, quirking an eyebrow. “Maybe I should start finding a suitable match for you, too.”

“I’ve told you. I’ve found mine.” He kissed Dorian’s cheek and walked back towards the bed. “There’s time,” he kissed Dorian’s fingertips, “and I am healing. Come here.”

“I’m coming. I’ve wanted you since breakfast.” Dorian followed, his cheeks turning an ever so slight shade of red. “But first—what makes you think I haven’t found the person I’ve been looking for myself?”

“You said you needed a wife. I don’t.” He opened the clasps of his robe then began working on Dorian’s, brushing the fabric wide and skimmed his fingertips over the edge of Dorian’s collarbone. “You’re exquisite.” 

“Thank you. You don’t. And I was mistaken,” Dorian murmured, running a hand along his jawline. “I didn’t realize another option existed. Now I do and I’m loath to subject myself unnecessarily to a lifetime of deceit. Not when the other choice is so much more appealing.”

Rilienus turned to kiss his fingers. “Options, yes. Infinite options. Not easy ones, I suppose.” He smiled against Dorian’s skin. “I have you to myself for now.” He nudged Dorian’s robe off his shoulders. “And I will have you.” He winked, sitting back on the bed. “Yes?”

“But of course,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian placed his hands on Rilienus’ shoulders, straddling him and gently pushing him backwards onto the pillow. “I wouldn’t dream of refusing you.”

“You can dream of it,” Rilienus smirked, smoothing his hands up Dorian’s sides. Warm and smooth against his scraped palms. Cardamom and sweat. “You’ve only wanted me since breakfast? Am I losing my touch?”

“I’ve only been apart from you since breakfast.” Dorian rolled his eyes, kissing along his neck, up to his ear. “I’m not counting morning prayer. I was half asleep. From the touch you’ve apparently lost keeping me up all night.”

“So you only want me when you can’t have me. I suspected as much.” He sighed, tilting his head to the side to give Dorian better access. “Oh, woe is me. Woe! And again, woe!”

“Are you trying to inspire pity for my lack of attention while I’m half naked on top of you?” 

“Only half!” He bit his lip in a poor attempt to conceal a grin. “I am filled with despair!”

“Such despair. I just told you that I’d be willing to forego my duty to my house and my country for you. But do tell me how you’re being terribly neglected.” He laughed, leaning up to look at Rilienus. “You’re ridiculous. I could be fully naked with a wave of your hand. You just want to make me work for it for some untold reason. Am I supposed to prove my devotion?”

“I don’t need your devotion,” he swept his gaze over Dorian. Caramel and sweat and spice. Every inch of him edible. He ran his fingertips up Dorian’s arms. “Nor would I ask you to forgo house or country. Not for me. For you, though. I am… exceedingly pleased if it’s for you. You are what I want. Just you. Just this.” He brushed his fingers over Dorian’s heart, humming to touch the pulse of him. “And I’ve told you. You have to do all the work. I’m very tired. I was casting… oh, just a storm out there today. Two fire blasts; I might actually faint.”

“In that case, up with you.” Dorian swung his leg over and lifted himself off the bed. “I’ve got an idea. It’ll save time and probably give you some energy.” He held out a hand. “I’ll do the casting.”

“Yes,” he rolled off the bed to his feet, nipping at his shoulder. “I could channel you. I would feel very revived.”

“You would. Not what I was talking about, but you would. Do you have the proper wards?”

“I’m very, very close.”

“Close enough for a trial?” Dorian looked at him curiously, smiling slightly. 

“By your standards,” he traced the line of Dorian’s waistband. “Certainly.”

“Ah, so you’ve written a dissertation on the subject, eh?” Dorian nudged him in the ribs. “Help me draw a bath and you can tell me all about it.”

“I would love to see your dissertation on becoming a nightingale,” he muttered against his skin as he kissed his way across his shoulder.

“It’s rather short. I wanted to impress you and I did.” Dorian smiled, kissing the top of his head. “Eventually, anyway, after you stopped wanting to strangle me.”

“Hmm.” He kissed Dorian’s collarbone, then the center of his chest, then his ribs one by one as he sank to the ground. “I didn’t want to strangle you. Crush you in my palm, slightly.” He nuzzled his stomach. “My dissertation is longer than yours.”

“Bath first, my love. We both smell like we’ve been rolling about in the dirt for the last few hours.” Dorian held out a hand. “Up you get.”

“Mm. No. Down you get,” Rilienus lifted a brow at him, tugging the rug aside to reveal a number of dweomer etched on the floor. “Happy first in dueling, my lord Pavus.”

“Rilienus,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a lord of anything. Not to you.”

“But you are,” he grinned. “You’re my lord. My lord to whom I pray on sacred altars.”

“Now who’s the deviant?”

“It’s a good thing I get a new medal tonight. The others have been substantially tarnished.”

Dorian clapped his hands, dusting himself off. “Then I suppose my work here is done! Brooches thoroughly despoiled. It’s been a pleasure, Rilienus.” He lifted his brows. “Guess I’ll need to be on my way. So many other righteous pupils in need of corruption…”

Rilienus caught his hands and pulled him down. “I don’t know why I put up with you, but I’ll be damned if you leave this room without using my conjured bath. You’re the only person I have who can appreciate it.”

“Called my bluff, did you?” Dorian kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m glad you put up with me. I’d rather be here than anywhere else. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Damn. There goes my announcement at the feast. Shall I say it here instead?” He caught Dorian’s lips with his own and sighed, tasting him. “I love Dorian Pavus. I love him and his eyes and his lips and his hands and every solitary part of him that builds to his glorious whole. I love the way he smells and the way he touches me and I am never happier than when I’m in his arms. And as it turns out, he prefers me to all of you. Insert villainous laugh here.” He tipped his head to the side, “Good?”

“Revoltingly saccharine,” Dorian laughed, slipping a hand behind his head and drawing him closer, kissing him again. Sweat and salt and sunshine. “I love it. I love you. I never wish to be parted from you. I’ll gladly hear any future speeches you’d like to make regarding our relationship as they come up. But for now, I’d very much enjoy that bath you won’t let me leave without experiencing. I’m tired and I smell and I want to lie back and blow bubbles in your face.”

“You smell like ozone and sunlight and cardamom and you.” He licked Dorian’s shoulder. “I could bottle you,” he hummed into his skin, brushing his fingers over the dweomer and letting a trickle of mana activate them one by one. Water steamed, filling the circle he’d drawn, rising within the bounds of his spell. 

“Maker, you make me think you’re going to lock me in a closet somewhere and just drink me up whenever you need a boost. I don’t do well in confinement, just in case you were considering it. I get testy.” Dorian loosened his drawstring and used one leg to slide his pants to the floor, scooting them aside. “You’d tire of it quickly, I assure you.”

“You seem to do just fine in confinement with the right distractions. After all, you are technically in a closet right now.” 

“Oh, look at that!” Dorian said, tugging down Rilienus’ pants in a smooth motion. “ _ That’s _ why I was feeling testy. I knew there was something...”

He laughed, rolling his eyes and kicked off his silks and smalls. “Better?”

“Infinitely.” Dorian sighed, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Why did the Maker see fit to make you so beautiful? It’s horrid, watching you go about all day and not being able to touch you.”

“It’s horrid going about all day without being touched,” he agreed, loosening the knot of Dorian’s smalls as he kissed him. More confounding that his little creatures seemed to think they saw something between them, when they denied themselves so much- such simple, tiny things - just to keep their secret. “Perhaps He elects to make it more difficult so we can appreciate the moments we’re given.” He nuzzled Dorian’s cheek, “Or He’s a rat who fled His city in the face of magic and has nothing to do with any of it. Theology is an inexact study.”

“I’m surprised your badges didn’t rust and fall off at that.” Dorian lifted his foot and gingerly dipped a toe into the magically-summoned pool before planting his foot back on the ground. He swept Rilienus up into his arms and dropped him into the shallow water, grinning madly before following him in. “Oh, if only they could see who you are,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian looked at him from the other side of the bath, laughing. “I’m not sure anyone could help but love you.”

“So long as you do, I am appeased,” he murmured, sinking under the water to let it fill his ears and soak his head. Heat, blessed heat. He emerged, shaking his head and blinking the water from his eyes. “Is it a suitable reward for your restraint and success?” he scrubbed his fingers through his hair and leaned back. “It is sort of fun, isn’t it? Anyone can win something, but failing believably is an art.” 

“Oh so fun, gritting my teeth and letting everyone show me up in front of the entire school, their families, mine, and the representative Radonis sent scouting.” Dorian sighed dramatically, scooting closer. “I’m so upset. I’m inconsolable. Devastated. Whatever am I to do?”

“I’ve drawn you a very nice bath. What do you want? Music?” He whistled his harp into a gentle song. “Flowers?” He tapped the surface of the water and caught the droplets, maneuvering them into a little water sculpture of a posie and offering it to him. “What do you wish of me?”

“Nothing  _ of  _ you.” Dorian chuckled, tucking a stray curl behind Rilienus’ ear. “Just you.”

“You can’t ask for what you already have.” He narrowed his eyes on him, drawing him closer still, “Try again.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, waving a hand and dousing him with water. “Come here and make love to me, you unbearable boor.”

“You really are in a mood, aren’t you? Insulting me. Despairing.” He caught Dorian’s face in his hand and kissed him hard. “Demanding.” He trailed his fingers down Dorian’s chest, into the water, exploring his skin slicked by the summoning and warmed by the heat. “When I’ve told you again and again, I’m pitifully wounded and can do nothing but bend to your will.”

Dorian smiled wryly, slipping down and dipping his head underwater. “Too injured? I did see Erend toss you across the yard. Perhaps we shouldn’t--” 

“You try to weasel out of making love to me and I might toss  _ you _ across a yard.”

“Well then, I suppose that settles it.” Dorian took his hand and pulled him onto his lap. His eyes were molten silver, sparkling, the reflection of the water casting shadows in his irises. Dorian smiled as he caressed him, catching Rilienus’ wet hair in his fingers. “We should wash up, and then spend some time in bed, and then wash up again. You seem tired. I’ll be gentle.”

He adjusted himself on Dorian’s lap, resting his head on his shoulder like a pillow. “Gentle, hm?”

“I  _ am  _ capable of it, I’ll have you know,” Dorian ran a hand along his back, holding him against his chest. “You just don’t usually seem particularly interested in gentle.”

“Says the fellow who keeps asking for a crop.”

“Variety, love,” Dorian chuckled. “Keeps things interesting.”

“ _ Things _ ,” he rolled his hips, “are plenty interesting.” He whistled low and the steam took on a vague scent of embrium and rosewater. “Would you really be that much happier if I whipped you?”

“Only if you wanted to,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian cupped his cheek, meeting his eyes. “We will not be doing anything you don’t want to do. Nothing is worth that to me.” He smiled slightly. “Besides. My wards, remember? They absorb a decent amount of physical damage.”

“Perhaps I should do it in the courtyard then. Silence your ducklings.”

“Are you suggesting I  _ try _ to irk the Praeceptor enough to get the Eye again? My, how things have changed. Also--” Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “If you did it in the courtyard, I wouldn’t get to be naked.”

“You are a strange man,” he sighed. “I adore you. But you’re strange.” He eyed him, stroking the side of his face. That beautiful face. Cheekbones that looked capable of cutting. Eyes designed to melt. A clever tongue hidden behind lips that were meant to be kissed- He hummed, nibbling at Dorian’s chin. “Hypothetically - and I am by no means agreeing to this- where would you want to be hit?” 

“Hypothetically? I don’t think I’d much like to be hit with a crop. I haven’t done that before; I was mostly exaggerating.” Dorian tilted his head, considering. “I’m not as interested in pain as some. It’s more about control. It’s a game. A game in which I allow someone else to make decisions for me. A relief, of sorts.” He chuckled, smiling again. “Specifically, to answer your question, my arse. You could tie me with rope or pin me with Force and spank me whenever you want. But… I thought you were feeling fragile.”

“I’m not always feeling fragile.” He lifted a brow. “I have a curious nature.”

“You’ll love the outside world, then. So many things to learn. A lifetime of it.”

He chuckled, tracing Dorian’s lips with his fingertips as the water shifted and swirled around them. “I think... I could try the game. Without the spanking.” He squinted. “The last time I hit someone… I’d really rather not. But I could try that control part of it. If it’s what you want.” 

“No spanking, then. Don’t even think about trying it if you’ve had a bad experience. I don’t want to bring that into your bedroom.” Dorian pressed a kiss to his lips, slick and wet and smelling of roses and herbs. “Control, though. I’d imagine you’d very much like to play at controlling me.”

“I didn’t say that.” He smoothed Dorian’s hair back from his forehead. “I like your mind. I like your willfulness. I like your choices. They’re not always healthy, but I love them all the same. They’re you. I don’t want you to be less than you.” He blinked a trickle of water from his eyes as it dribbled down from his brow. “But I’m willing to play a game. A limited one. Just to see what you’re like when you’re not arguing with me.”

“That’s all it is,  _ amatus,  _ a game. It won’t change me. And you’ll get to see yet another part of me that nobody else does.” Dorian took his hand and kissed his knuckles, a small smile on his lips. “You’ll need to get better about telling me what you want, though. I want to please you. I want to know what you like.”

“You know what I like. I like you,” he licked his lips. “I like… this. Us. Have I given you the impression that I’m less than pleased?”

“ _ Maker’s breath _ ,” Dorian laughed, kissing his cheek. “I know you love me. I know you’re pleased. I adore you. What I  _ meant _ is that there are a great many ways to…” Dorian sighed, shaking his head and laughing. “ _ Fasta vass _ , we need to get you out of this circle. It’s stunting your sexual education. We’ve been together quite a few times now, yes?”

“Not enough,” he wrinkled his nose. Stunted? He seemed stunted? 

“Are there things that we’ve done that you like more than others?”

“More?”

“That is what I asked, yes. Do you like being touched in certain places? In certain manners? Does it change based upon your mood? Do you enjoy certain positions? Would you like wearing certain things? There’s a plethora of options. While we do have some limitations here, there are still--I want to know what you like,  _ specifically _ .”

Rilienus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Specifically.”  _ Stunted _ ? He opened his mouth, then shut it again. What was he supposed to say? What  _ could _ he say? “I-“ He frowned. More than others? He hadn’t been comparing their engagements. Had Dorian? Did he have some sort of… list in his head, holding them in a hierarchy? “I would like to wind you in Orlesian brocade like a spool of thread.” He blinked. Those had not been the words he’d planned. 

Dorian’s eyes widened and a smile lit his face. “There we are. Fantastic. Glorious. And do you intend to unspool me afterwards?”

He was… happy about this? “Possibly.” 

“After a long while spent admiring my figure, I hope?”

“Yes.” He felt too warm suddenly. 

“Delightful,” Dorian chimed, running a hand through his beard. “I’ll try and obtain the fabric for you if you don’t have access to a tailor. And you’ll let me know if you have other such ideas?”

“I- That time your robes tore in Staves and I replaced the section.” It was too warm. He’d miscalculated the dweomer apparently. “I’d like to do that again. Or.” He bit his lip. “Or just start from scratch.”

“I’d like that too. I should’ve known you’d have a fondness for clothing.” Dorian took his hand, smiling, running his thumb along the back. “Your magic. And the fact that you’ve been forced to wear this blasted green robe for a decade. I believe you’ll like what I brought with me. I don’t intend to go to this evening’s festivities dressed like a Chantry brother.”

His gaze skimmed to the bag Dorian had left atop the storage chest. “I’ve some other things. Just can’t wear them in sight of anyone.” He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Dorian’s gaze. “I like the gentle, Dorian. Perhaps I could… communicate that better. The slow dawns and quiet midnights. I like them very much.”

“Thank you.” Dorian nuzzled against his cheek, kissing it lightly. “Then gentle is what you’ll get,  _ amatus _ . At least more often than you have been. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you prefer. It’s important to me that you’re as happy as I can make you. I care for you very much.”

“It isn’t a preference, Dorian. I enjoy all of it. It’s all-“ He sighed, glancing skyward. “The altar. I very much enjoyed the altar. It’s all- new to me. Maybe that’s why… I don’t feel bored.”

“I’m far from bored, Rilienus. Believe me. That isn’t what this conversation is about.” Dorian tilted his chin back downward, meeting his eyes again. “I’m not bored. How could I be? It’s okay if it’s new. There are parts that are new for me, too. I’ve never been loved like this before. Appreciated. Admired. We can figure out the details together. Just--if you have an idea or an opinion, will you try to tell me? I’d love to hear them, even if you think they sound silly.”

“If you insist.” He nudged closer, rubbing his lips against Dorian’s to feel the texture of him. Rose gold satin, slick and steamed and tasting of herbs. “I do love you. To know you is to love you. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn you’ve been loved and appreciated and admired many times before. Perhaps I’m lucky you didn’t recognize it until you found me.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m lucky, too,  _ mon rossignol _ . Infinitely and unbelievably lucky.” Dorian kissed his forehead, steam rising from his skin. “We should probably dry off while we still have time, hmm? Someone threatened to throw me across a yard just a few moments ago.”

“Someone is often a fool,” he murmured. “As if I would throw you anywhere, let alone across a yard. What would I do if you got too far away?” 

“I won’t.” Dorian chuckled, smoothing a hand over his chest. “You’re going to bottle me up and keep me in your closet, remember? We can stay here a while longer, if you’d like. I enjoy holding you, just like this.”

“I enjoy it, too. You’re very comfortable,” Rilienus murmured. “But there’s an awful risk of wrinkling if we overindulge- I might be smited for that; sins against the Maker and all that.” He nipped at Dorian’s lips. “And I think the feast will be infinitely more bearable with the feel of you slowly leaking out of me.” He slid to his feet, letting the water pour off of him as he took Dorian’s hand to draw him up. “You asked what I wanted,  _ mon aube _ . That’s what I want.”


	20. the coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine (*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT AHEAD. PROCEED IN YOUR PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT AT YOUR OWN RISK.

## Dorian

Of course as soon as he’d gotten used to the idea of nestling against Rilienus until the last possible moment, his lover had changed the game. Steam and water made his skin glisten and sparkle like a chilled glass of whiskey set out in the sun. Delicious. Intoxicating. Unexpected. 

He let himself be pulled up like a fish on a line. A moth to a flame. A sheep after a shepherd. 

Running fingers and soft cotton towels along each other’s skin to banish the water. Kisses to drink up any remaining droplets. Rilienus’ fingers tingling with frost to keep them from sweating again from the warmth of each other’s bodies. The harp swelling to a crescendo as Rilienus tugged him further from his summoned pool and onto the narrow bed. 

“You see, this is why I asked.” Dorian murmured, biting the corner of his ear. “You’re a tough man to predict. I think I understand and _poof_! Another layer revealed, after I thought you were fully bared.”

“I _am_ fully bared.” His lips curved against his cheek, arching beneath him. He was. Swollen, a line of firm heat pressed to Dorian’s hip. He spread his thighs, his hands sliding up Dorian’s back- chill amid the steam in the room and the heat between them. “Am I so difficult to predict? I want you.” He kissed the corner of his jaw, tracing ten chilled points in opposite directions up and down Dorian’s spine as he rolled his hips to meet him. “I want you. The sight of you makes me feverish. The sound of your voice is gilded light. The taste of your tongue is intoxicating-“

“Hmm, yes; all true, I’d imagine. You’ve a way with words.” Dorian shivered at the frost along his back, clutching Rilienus tighter to ward off the cold. “Do you still want me to do all of the work, or has that changed as well?”

He chuckled. “I like when you do.” His tongue flicked past Dorian’s earlobe, “I promise I’ll do whatever you want after the festivities. Trounce, pounce, whatever you like. I want to be at your mercy for now. Do you mind terribly?”

“Not in the slightest.” Dorian turned his head, biting his lip as Rilienus’ lips met the tender spot behind his ear, the one that made him twitch against him. “Pleasuring you hardly counts as work. Wards?”

He felt the resonance of Rilienus’ hum vibrating through his chest as the late afternoon light caught through his window and flared, spreading through the steam like smoke. Dweomer and runes and glyphs shone across his ceiling, his walls, the headboard. “Shall I give my dissertation?” he asked quietly.

“Dissertation or demonstration?” Dorian’s pulse was thrumming in his chest. “Either way, the answer is yes.”

Rilienus nodded, dampening his lips. “Symbiosis versus sublimation, essentially. So we separate the essential parts and maintain that separation- that was what I was trying to show you before. With the hollow. It gives a space through which the invested mana can move without directly touching what is present. Like a hand in a glove rather than a pot of winter wine. Yes? It still allows for a shaping, without complete access. And I’ve stress-response glyphs outlined here-“ he pointed above them, “and here,” to the wall to their side, “so if it seems like there’s a twitch too far, those should activate. Also memory canons, if there’s a need. There were so many variables at play that first time, but I’ve been practicing it on my own, focusing on delineation and I feel confident that I’ve cracked it. And now you know what to expect. Yes?”

Dorian gazed around the room, at the shining runes running across and around the walls, the colors mixing and mingling in the water vapor, dispersing a rainbow of light throughout the air. Hours of work, it must have taken, just to draw the glyphs. Let alone puzzle out their orientations. Not to mention the testing he’d apparently already done. 

“When did you manage all of this, Rilienus?” He shook his head, eyes wide. “I’ve spent every evening with you since we created the correspondence portal. Surely you wouldn’t have had time to experiment; you’ve had what? Maybe an hour or two alone every day, since we’ve met?”

“I don’t have to be alone. You’re a very sound sleeper.” He tucked Dorian’s hair back over his ear. “That’s a helpful four to six additional hours every night.”

“How are you still breathing, only sleeping a few hours a night?” Dorian sighed, stroking his cheek. “Now you’ve made me concerned for your longevity.”

“I enjoy the dark. It helps me think.” 

“So do basic human functions, generally, like not staying up until your body collapses. I’m going to be furious if you work yourself into an early grave.”

He laughed. “Do I seem limited in function as well as stunted? My goodness.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , you’re not stunted.” Dorian frowned, meeting his eyes. “Just… unaccustomed to the idea that you should be able to tell your lovers what you wish of them. We’re working on it.”

“Are we? Be still my heart, I’m being wooed.”

“And your function is also somehow completely unimpaired, a fact which I can’t even begin to understand, given that I require a full night’s sleep to even fathom getting out of bed in the morning, let alone perform complex energy manipulations.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m thirty.” He smoothed his palm up- soft flesh warming Dorian’s shoulder before his fingers chilled him once more. “For now, it’s a waste of time. When else would I get a block of uninterrupted hours?”

“I just _worry_.” Dorian rolled onto his side, arm draped across Rilienus’ chest. “You’ve broken me. Made me think about mortality. It’s very cruel, you know.”

“And well you should. You are a self-proclaimed necromancer, are you not? Surely mortality comes with the territory? You need to care for yourself; your beauty is reliant on slumber and warm, soft breezes. Mine is resolute, fired in the kiln of Andraste’s ferocity.”

“Well, try to keep that forge lit, will you? My nights would grow far too cool and dim without it.”

“I do my best.” He nibbled Dorian’s lip, “Could we focus on smaller deaths? Or are we bound for the ferry across the river of philosophy?” His fingers trailed down Dorian’s arm to his side, brushing back up his chest. “I’ve never needed much sleep. I feel fine. More than fine. Not quite as fine as you feel,” he added, lips curling into a smirk. 

“I do so love philosophy, though.” Dorian murmured, taking Rilienus’ hand and trailing it downwards, cool fingertips against his burning skin. “The study was never meant for moments of quiet contemplation. Too sterile. How can you understand the nature of existence if you aren’t caught in its thrall?” Dorian kissed along the line of his jaw, rolling on top of him again once he finally reached his lips. “The ascetics who spend all day meditating on the nature of life know less than the harlots who live it.” Rosewater and embrium, sweat and sunshine. Eyes as bright and brilliant as magelight. “Making love to you is philosophy, is religion, and my favorite branch of both. Transcendent and spiritual. Is it not?”

Rilienus sighed low, chuckling, “Heretic,” as his fingers closed around him and squeezed lightly. “I adore you.”

“I’m the perfect picture of piety,” Dorian exhaled, trying to keep his voice steady as Rilienus touched him. “I’m basking in the glory of the Maker’s creation. Letting His light fill me to my core. Or—“ he laughed, “letting it fill you? I’m afraid I’ve lost the metaphor. You’re distracting.”

“Prayer _should_ be distracting, shouldn’t it?” he asked. “And reciprocal, as we are both His. You’re more than welcome to fill me with your light-“ The twitch of his smile, mischief and pride gleaming in his eyes. “And your piety.”

“Reciprocal. Yes. Lie back,” Dorian said, kissing down the length of Rilienus’ body, his whiskers catching against the hairs on his chest. He nudged his thighs apart with outstretched hands, kissing up his slender thighs, nuzzling his cheek against Rilienus’ hips. Sweat collected on his skin, dew on daisy petals. Dorian stroked the length of his cock, smiling as it hardened further under his touch. “So I can exalt you to the heavens, where you belong.”

Rilienus arched under his touch, his teeth white pearls upon his lip. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Yes, yes, so heroic.” Dorian chuckled, quirking a brow. “I’m sure I’ll join you shortly.” He gripped the base of his shaft, allowing his eyes to wander along the curves and dips of Rilienus’ muscles before meeting his eyes again. “But for now--” Dorian kissed his tip gently, his skin as luxurious as the blossoms that coated the streets of Minrathous in the spring. “I would rather see you writhe like a silkworm under my fingers.”

A half laugh. A tremor that ran the length of him like a chill. “Would you?” Rilienus brushed his fingers through his hair, calluses fingertips like a benediction on Dorian’s brow. “You wonderment.”

Laughter like the rippling of a pond so still, it almost seemed frozen. Tiny waves breaking against the shoreline, effortlessly, as though he was never meant to be silent and stern and static at all. Rilienus wore a pattern that wasn’t entirely his, carefully crafted over years of confinement. It still fit him poorly. Strands of his own cloth would show through, in the quiet moments, more radiant than anything mortal hands could design. 

“I would, if you’d let me,” Dorian hummed, his voice light and lilting. “Does it still surprise you?”

“You say that as if you imagine there will come a time when it won’t.” A curl of a full, bitten lip. A slow blink. “Not surprise, exactly, but… a similar effervescence.”

“I do rather hope there will be a time in which you simply expect me to treat you as you deserve.” Dorian dipped his head, closing his eyes as he drew whorls along his length with the tip of his tongue. A tightening of Rilienus’ muscles, from the thighs underneath Dorian’s arms, to the hands clenching in his hair. “Do I have your permission, _amatus_?”

“You know you do,” he murmured. Swallowed. Watching him so intently. “It’s nice, you know. Not expecting it. A little discovery each time you reach for me. It’s beautiful.”

“As are you.” Dorian sighed as he encircled him, moaning low at the taste of salt that coated his tongue, smiling as he drew him deeper into his mouth. He looked up at Rilienus, watching his eyelids flutter under his movements, his hips subtly shifting against Dorian’s waiting lips. 

“Ah, that’s-“ He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from Dorian’s shoulder to clench the linens as the fingers of his other hand tangled in his hair. “You’re very- You are- I love you-“

The sweet, near speechlessness from someone who always had a clever response at the ready never failed to set Dorian’s heart racing. The battle Rilienus fought between wanting to stare, unbelieving, and wanting to close his eyes and lose himself to the dream filled him with sunlight. 

Gentle moments. He loved them, too. He’d admit it to no one else, but he lived for the sliver of time that divided waking and sleeping, when the world collapsed into the steady pulse of their heartbeats and the quiet lull of their breaths. Wrapping himself around Rilienus like a blanket, like the shield his lover had spun around him on the battlements, protecting the fragment of vulnerability that the Order and his uncle hadn’t managed to turn to stone. 

I love you, too. He willed the words, soundlessly across the space between them as his tongue flitted across velvet skin. For allowing me to see you. For permitting me to care. For giving me the chance to be more than a doll upon a shelf, waiting to be brought down to play another’s game. 

I love you, too. The phrase resounded in his mind like a thunderstorm, like dragon’s breath. Rilienus grew taut under his lips. Dorian reached a hand up to clasp his, the sharp clink of their jewelry nearly drowned by the dull humming Rilienus couldn’t contain within his chest. For trusting me, for protecting me, for bringing me here.

I love you, too. He’d thought he’d understood what the words meant before, even if he’d never said them aloud to anyone else. But standing in the storm of Rilienus’ magic, amid the torrential downpour of silken threads of mana, he’d felt the essence of the phrase pulsing through him like lightning. He cast, drawing from the Fade to slicken the fingers of his unheld hand and slid a single digit inside of his lover as Rilienus tilted his pelvis and groaned, sliding deeper into his throat. For letting me know you, without fear, without reprehension, expecting everything and nothing, for staring at me with surprise and delight and wonder.

Dorian squeezed his hand, running his thumb along the delicate bones of his fingers, feeling them shift underneath like the rest of Rilienus’ body.

Writhing. Maker, he was doing just that. Not like an insect though, like a dancer, like an acrobat walking a slender rope between anticipation and deliverance. There was scarcely a movement Rilienus made that wasn’t underlined by graceful elegance, a serenade given shape. The universe was light and color and sound to him and Dorian could still sometimes feel the shadow of that world, lingering from the brief moments in which they had been joined. 

Dorian was golden, in his eyes, but also against his fingers and ears and tongue. If he had to compare, Rilienus was a darker shade, purple or midnight blue, with snaking tendrils of silver moonlight weaving through his twilit tapestry, mysterious and mischievous and full of a desperate hope. Love and loss and resilience. 

Panting breaths. Finger vanished, up to the knuckle. Curling inside, feeling him, searching for the motions that would make him cry out like an evening songbird.

Dorian drank him up like wine, like brandy, like whiskey on his tongue, warming him to his toes, beyond, radiating into all the spaces they weren’t touching.

Rilienus was haunting melodies and minor chords, soul-crushing and heartbreaking, just enough hope to ward off the despair. Just enough fire to keep his body from being cast in ice. Dorian imagined his lover could sing the dead back to life, if he willed it. Could teach the mountains to cry. The sea to mourn.

How could he feel anything but awe when he looked upon him? Was Rilienus blind to his own nature? Dorian wordlessly vowed to try harder to show him who he was. What he could do. Everything he could be.

## Rilienus

He loved him. Dorian loved him. 

It resonated through his soul like a symphony where it had once been sweet, single chords. Lit his veins afire and soothed them into warm, steady pastels in a gentle sunrise. 

Rilienus curled against him despite the heat; their skin was sticky with sweat, peeling apart and resealing with every shift of their bodies. That was good. That was excellent. He buried his face into Dorian’s armpit and breathed him deep into his lungs, filling himself with his scent as the last dregs of his power dissipated. 

The wards had done their work; he hadn’t shuttled headlong into the cracking powerhouse of Dorian’s mana this time. He’d kept his head, standing electrified in the center of that folding and unfolding cataclysm to touch its seams and edges and let its resolve ground him rather than send him flying. 

Resolve. 

He shivered, sighing as Dorian brushed dew from his skin. Every touch built him and bent him at once; a lens through which he could taste himself and find new corners he hadn’t known existed. Having him housed inside of him, body and mana and essence, was like being transformed from a temple into a cathedral, stretching towards the sky and buried deep, full of labyrinths and ancient secrets and tunnels to the sea. “Hmph,” he exhaled, mouthing the muscles in the crook of his arm, lapping at the coarse hairs that resided there and held his scent like incense. 

“Do you think my simulacra could dance, _mon rossignol_?” A low hum of his steady baritone. “I’d very much like to stay here.”

“Now would be a good place to stop time. Try it.”

“Calculations aren’t ready. I might accidentally age us a decade or two. Wouldn’t want that.” Dorian chucked, running a hand through Rilienus’ curls. “Though, perhaps you’d sleep more if I did.”

“I would sleep now,” he mumbled, awash in his skin and the color of his scent and the taste of his voice. “I could die here.”

“No, no. No dying. I’ve plans for this evening. I can’t have you missing out on them.”

“Put your simulacra in my robes. No one will notice.”

“You’re telling me you don’t wish to attend this evening’s festivities?” Dorian’s voice was shaded with mock disappointment. “But I had every intention of looking positively ravishing.”

“You’re always ravishing.” He turned to slant his gaze at Dorian. The strong planes of his chest, the curve of his shoulder to his neck, the angle of his jaw. He trailed his fingers down Dorian’s chest. “The adjective and the verb.”

“Hmm… I suppose you’ll miss out on my plot, then.” Dorian wrapped an arm around him, hugging him tightly as his breaths grew more even. “I’ll fill you in on the details in the morning, I suppose.”

“No plots. No trouble.” He wrinkled his nose. “I haven’t the wherewithal to mourn you properly.” He dipped his thumb into Dorian’s navel like an inkwell. “What plot?”

“Stop,” he laughed. “Tickles.” Dorian nudged his cheek with his chin, tilting Rilienus’ face so their eyes were level. He stroked the scruff along his jaw. “Doing my damndest to charm your Blighted uncle until he offers me your hand.”

“He’s easily charmed. That should be simple enough.” He leaned in to brush his lips over Dorian’s- to taste himself on him, to feel the satin of him. “Which did you want? The right or left? I could save you some time and simply cut it off now.”

“Ah, so you’ve found a flaw in my plan?” Dorian sighed, pressing a kiss to his nose. “ _Kaffas_. I suppose we don’t need to attend, then.”

“Good,” he sighed. “Fuck them all. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“As am I. I wouldn’t even be able to ask you to dance. What a dreadful waste of music.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” He walked his fingers up the ladder of Dorian’s ribs, rung by rung. “Do I get to see what’s in the bag if we don’t go?”

“No,” Dorian smiled, shaking his head. “I assumed we’d both need the motivation to get out of bed.”

“Hateful, conniving creature.” 

“I was right, was I not?” Dorian chuckled, breathing deeply. “What will you be wearing?”

“You ask as though there’s a question.” He rolled his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll don some cerulean silk for you, out of sight.” 

“Of your own design?”

“What else would it be?” he nipped lightly at Dorian’s chin. “Do you imagine tailors come through regularly, offering their wares? That we have some sort of marketplace hidden in the back of the Chantry?” He settled his cheek to Dorian’s shoulder, wrapped around him. “I do like seeing what people bring in. And what the magisters wear to show off at the feasts. Quaeren’s taste is abysmal, but there was a woman last year who had golden feathers and a series of fox tails… It was fantastic. A little too symmetrical for my tastes, but the colors were...” he kissed Dorian’s shoulder. “The wards worked.”

“They did,” Dorian snickered. “Your pupils haven’t swallowed your irises this time.” He tilted his head, nuzzling against the top of Rilienus’ skull. “Rilienus, I want to see you in every shade of silk, satin, lace, and brocade under the Maker’s sun.” He turned to look at him, eyes shifting like mercury. “And then I’d like to peel you out of each outfit, unwrapping you like a gift on Satinalia. And then…” Eyes that glittered and gleamed with shared secrets. “I believe I’d like to spend hours and hours, laboring over my prize. I do so love you. You know this, yes? If I haven’t convinced you yet, I’m not sure I’ll ever manage it.”

“You don’t need to convince me. I can feel it when I feel you. It’s a pulse inside your mana.” He lifted his head, brows drawing together, “Could you not feel that when you channeled me? It’s a song, like… wind through orange blossoms, making the lights dance and the leaves whistle.”

“I did. I did feel it.” Dorian kissed his knotted eyebrows, trying to smooth them again with his touch. “But sometimes it’s far too easy for our minds to deny what our bodies know.”

“I’ve done a great many foolish things in my life, Dorian. Foolish, dangerous, damaging things, but denying that you love me isn’t one of those. That is… That’s a miracle. You are.” He tilted his chin, meeting Dorian’s gaze. “You know that I- and how much? Do I need to prove it to you? There’s only so many flowers in the world and only so many bottles of wine, but I could start working on a collection.”

“No,” Dorian chuckled, smiling easily. “Though I do appreciate wine and flowers from time to time. When we’re together, it radiates off of you. Even out there, in the world, when we’re pretending.”

“Is that why?” he asked quietly. “Is it me? Am I giving us away?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian sighed, exhaling slowly. “It’s probably me. You’re more subtle than I am, for a certainty. We shouldn’t start to blame each other, though. It’s the world that’s wrong.”

“It isn’t a matter of blame.” The light caught the vermillion petal in his eye, casting his iris in a spray of its colors for a moment before the emerald returned. He frowned. “We’ll have to keep better check of it. More distance, Maker knows how. At least tonight, that should be simple enough. I just… won’t look at you for a few hours. I can manage that. I think.”

“Can you? I can hardly stand to not look at myself for that long.”

“That should make it easy for you on your end, then. Carry around a looking glass. You need it anyway. This-” he thumbed Dorian’s mustache, “-is almost constantly out of sorts.”

“Mm, and that’s my doing? I rather thought it was yours, _amatus_.”

Rilienus chuffed, shaking his head. “I mean it. More careful. Much more careful.”

“How?” Dorian sighed again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I thought we were already doing as much as we could.”

“I shouldn’t have pulled you aside at the arena,” he muttered against his skin. “Too much eye contact. Maybe I watched your trials too closely.” Rilienus’ jaw tightened against his skin. “I know better. I know better than this. Someone’s always watching. Damn it all.”

“I’m glad you did.” Dorian tipped his chin. “I needed it, my love.”

“Then I’m glad I did, too, but-” He sighed. “If, after everything, I’ve risked us… I’ll simply pull back more. I’ll hate it, but there we are.”

“I’ll do my best to take care of Sevine and the rest.” Dorian’s smile had wavered slightly. “But, I’ll admit, it’s going to be nearly impossible to keep my eyes from you.”

“Flattery,” he chuckled darkly. “You’ve already got my heart, my body, my essence, my power. What more could you possibly be after?”

Dorian ran a finger down the line of his nose, his eyes glinting from the waning light coming in from the golden stained glass window. “The honor and privilege of complimenting the man I love before spending an entire evening pretending like I don’t know him.” He caught Rilienus’ hand and squeezed it gently. “We should probably freshen up or the entire ballroom will smell like sex. Not particularly discreet.”

Rilienus dragged his arm out and buried his face in his armpit again, breathing deep. “So good, though.”

“Whatever happened to that sense of self-preservation you’re always chiding me for forgetting?”

“I’ll pour a vial of elfroot over my head. That’ll mask the smell.” He rubbed his face against him, holding him tightly. “Every time I have to let you go, I want to scream.”

“No, let’s actually make an attempt.” Dorian chuckled, kissing the back of his head. “And the feeling is mutual, I assure you. But it’s only temporary. A few hours. We had twenty years before and somehow muddled through. What’s an evening compared to that?”

“Torture. I didn’t know what I was missing before.”

“Let’s wash a bit and then we can help each other dress. I’m going to need to be sewn in, actually. I’ll need your assistance.”

“You need to learn some basic threadcalling,” he mumbled against his skin, then slipped away down the bed to pluck at the bag. “You wash first. I want to look. Where did it come from? When did you have time to get it tailored?”

Dorian stood slowly, stretching his arms above his head, rolling his neck and running a hand through his hair. Every movement lithe and languorous, like a tiger waking from slumber. Dorian grabbed a towel and moved to the still steaming basin of water in the center of the room, slipping in again, sighing. “There’s nothing better than a bath after making love. Other than just falling asleep. But if one is to move…” He turned towards Rilienus, putting his elbows on the barrier. “I wrote to Mother weeks ago, almost as soon as I’d arrived. My measurements had been taken for the uniform robes anyway. Asked for one adjustment to the original design though. I haven’t seen how it turned out yet.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your uniform,” Rilienus murmured, easing the bag open and peering inside. “The threads about your shoulders are complaining.”

“Oh,” he ducked his head underwater, shaking off the droplets. “I might need some alterations then, too. Are you feeling up to it?”

“Feeling up to it,” he chuckled. “I’m wired.” He let his gaze linger on the droplets sliding down Dorian’s skin. “In a healthy way.”

“Glad to be of service,” Dorian smiled, silver eyes fixed on him. “What do you think of the fabric? And the color? Do you think it will suit?”

The silk his hand found was as dark as obsidian and ran through his fingers like water. Tevinter make, definitely. He pulled out a slender bodysuit that looked like it was meant to hug every curve of his body, from his toes to his fingertips, except for the daringly sharp angle of the neckline. Dorian hadn’t been exaggerating; the seams of the back were open so that he could slip inside, but he’d need to be sewn into the garment. A golden dragon curled itself around his shoulders, embroidered with cloth of gold, the plumes of its flames outlined in rubies. 

He sat it delicately on the bed, drawing out the rest of the pieces. An armoured belt, with cascading bustles of golden chiffon that would fall along his hipbone. A long, black cape with peaked golden epaulets. Gilded greaves to match. He unfolded the length of cloth and frowned when he saw the insignia boldly emblazoned on the back.

A giant, golden, shining eye. The symbol he had worn as a punishment, just a few short weeks ago. And Dorian meant to flaunt it like a trophy in front of the entire castle.

“Are you mad?” he looked up. “Are you actually- You-” He gritted his teeth. “Why? What possesses you? Honestly.”

“You don’t like it?” Dorian frowned, looking playfully crestfallen. “I’m paying homage. I’ve been reformed. Thanks to you, in particular.”

“You _want_ me to die. You want me to die and you want to use my corpse to play pranks on people.”

“I do _not_. I much prefer you alive.” Dorian slid deeper into the water, a small, crooked smile on his lips. “Just think, now nobody will think twice if you spend the entire evening staring at me. You’ll be just one of many.”

“I _can’t-_ ” he stared at the neckline of the silk and wanted to throw his fist into a wall. “I can’t be staring at you.” He scowled. “This is why friends are troublesome nuisances.”

“I can’t very well go to a party dressed in that dull green ensemble.” Back into the water, completely submerged. When he broke the surface, he twisted a ring on his finger and murmured, opening a small pocket above his head, shuffling through a handful of bottles before pouring half of one into the bath. The scent of cardamom and cinnamon filled the air, mixing and mingling with the rose hips and embrium. “Don’t worry. I’m accustomed to being the center of attention.”

“I’m well aware.” All the better he was planning to avoid him through the evening. Let him have his fun causing a ruckus. Rilienus sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Let him have his fun and pray that he didn’t gain himself the actual Eye again. Not with the attention his idiot friends were already paying them. Just get through the night. He could do that. Focus on Quaeren; Maker knew that always took all of his attention to play correctly in any case. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t come near me. Clear?”

Dorian stood from the bath, water trickling down his body in steaming rivulets. He stepped out, drops puddling on the stone floor. Snapped his fingers and the water vaporized instantly. Waved his hand, opening the window and blowing the steam from the room. Naked and glorious, terrible power housed within skin made of melting caramel. And a blasted smile to top it off.

“If you will it so, amatus,” Dorian said, grabbing his towel and crossing the room to wrap his arms around him. “It’ll be like we’ve never met.”

“Dorian,” he sighed, “I mean it. This isn’t a game for me. This is my life. Do you understand that? If Quaeren thinks I’m playing him- If he finds any weakness in me he can exploit, then he will. He’s played into every one I’ve handed him thus far. I won’t let you be part of that. I can’t.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’ll behave. I’ll treat you just like anyone else. I’m sorry—I _am_ anxious. I like to wrap myself in gold and silk and fake, practiced smiles when I’m going into battle. It’s a comfort.” Dorian ran a hand down his back, exhaling deeply. “But I will not, under any circumstances, allow him to hurt you. Not ever.”

“I envy you your armor,” he rested his forehead on Dorian’s shoulder. “And I understand it. I simply- I can’t participate. I can’t. I wish I could.”

“Not tonight, no.” Dorian tipped his chin up, an index finger under his jaw. Eyes of molten steel, piercing into his soul. “But one day, I’ll dance with you in the center of the Imperial ballroom. Mark my words.”

He laughed, liquid. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“And then everyone can stare at the both of us, in envy.” Dorian chuckled, gripping him tightly, an anchor in the midst of a raging storm. “Do hold me to it. Please.”

He brushed his fingers up the sides of Dorian’s face, combing his hair back from his face. “I adore you more than I thought was possible.” He sniffed, blinking liquid hope from his eyes. “Up. Let me see what I can do about your shoulders.”


	21. Here, where men sit and hear each other groan

##  Dorian

The dining hall had been rearranged; the normal benches and tables vanished and had been replaced with large circular tables draped with charcoal tablecloths. Suspended above each table was a chandelier fabricated from the skull of a slain beast, their bones glowing softly, supplementing the light filtering in from the stained glass windows. 

A rampant dragon spewed dark mulberry wine from a fountain that had been erected in the center of the room, its eyes cast with solid rubies, each scale painted with gold. Several students were clustered around it, filling their glasses with the thick, purple beverage, sipping it casually. He felt their eyes catch him as he walked past, searching for the table that would bear his name.

Dorian’s slippered footsteps were accompanied by the soft swish of his cloak. The pattern was mesmerizing in the low light, shifting gold coiling and uncoiling like a den of snakes, giving way to the eye on the back that Rilienus had been so perturbed by. Dorian felt slightly guilty for it; the deliciousness of the symbolism wasn’t worth the look of frustration he’d gotten for it. 

His name was nowhere to be found on the lowest level of the room, nor the next two. Finally, looking towards the space the prefects usually occupied, he met his father’s eyes. For once, the students were seated according to their parents’ ranks as opposed to their own. He approached, cautiously, before taking a seat between Halward and Aquinea Pavus. They were joined by Jekeb and Savine, Lamonis, and a curvy brunette with a kind smile who introduced herself as Emilia. He thought he’d heard the name before, but couldn’t quite place it. Their guests were Magisters and their spouses; Lamonis’ father, Sevine and Jekeb’s mother, and Emilia’s elder sister.

There were two spots left, currently unoccupied, almost directly across from his own. 

He felt his eyes widen with realization, his heart sinking like a stone into the earth. And saw the bright new medal on the dark green robes as Rilienus took hold of one of the chairs and pulled it out. 

“Here, Dominus,” he murmured, bowing as a taller, round-faced man with a drinker’s nose took the offered chair. 

“Lamonis, Illenus, and Pavus! The Maker is smiling on us all today! What accomplishments the next generation has to offer!” He beamed, broad, sweeping the folds of his robe to the sides as he took his seat. “Sit! Sit, my boy.” He patted the seat beside him, beaming at Rilienus. “Such a pity your parents aren’t here to rejoice in your work today.”

Rilienus bowed his head, folding his hands. “Wine, Dominus?”

“Don’t mind if I do! Anyone else?” He wagged his finger, “Jessik Lamonis, I know you like a quaff or two. Yes! If it’s to be a feast, let it be a feast. Leave the righteousness for another day, am I right?”

Dorian felt the flush creep to his cheeks, unbidden, his anger rising with it. He clenched his fist tightly under the table, trying to keep his expression impassive as he raised his other hand and caught the bottle he’d pulled towards himself with force. He twirled a finger and eased the cork out, setting it aside. 

“I pour my own drinks as a matter of habit,” Dorian said cooly as he met the Magister’s eyes, holding his gaze with the slightest of smirks. “One can never be too careful about such things.”

Rilienus blinked slowly, “Uncle-“

“You!” He leaned across his waiting plate, steepling his fingers as he smiled at Dorian, “must be feeling so proud today, yes? After that performance in the dueling finals? I’ve never seen such a still and silent competition! What did you two get up to in that pod, I wonder! I’m sure we’re all very curious!”

The picture of political joviality. It made Dorian want to spit on the ground.

Dorian turned to Sevine with a small smile. “Well, I couldn’t penetrate her shield, so I decided to use a different tactic instead.”

“Oh, I’m certain you did!” he chortled. “I’m certain you did!” He raised a brow at Dorian’s mother, “Keep an eye on this lothario, will you? This is supposed to be a school!”

“Would you care to repeat that accusation for the Praetor, Maecilia?” Halward held just glass out casually towards Dorian, who filled it, eyes widening. “Or would you rather apologize to myself, my wife, my son, Magister Illenus, and her lovely daughter?”

“A jest!” Maecilia laughed. “A jest in good faith. So stern and dour. Goodness! Illenus knows a joke when she hears one.” He winked and made the Magister’s glass ring with bellsong. “Rules are rules; yes, we know.” He reached across the table to pat Illenus’ hand, “Thinks the rest of us are but fledglings, eh?”

Sevine’s mother was frowning, pulling her hand into her lap, glancing at her daughter. The girl’s cheeks didn’t betray her; she hadn’t flushed at the comment, a fact which Dorian praised the Maker for.

“He’s had perhaps a glass too many, Halward,” Aquinea muttered, her eyes fixed on Maecilia, glaring. “Mulberry wine is stronger than you’d expect. I’m sure the Magister meant no offense. Yes, Dorian?”

“I’d kindly request that the subject of the conversation for the remainder of the evening be steered away from my nightly activities or lack thereof.” Dorian said, sipping his wine, tapping his fingers against the tablecloth. “For the sake of keeping talk entertaining.”

The man didn’t even have decency to blush. Or perhaps he did. It was difficult to tell with the eternal ruddiness of his entire face. “The boy makes an excellent point. Felicitations to all the competitors,” he said warmly, lifting his glass. “Well done.”

“By Her Light,” Rilienus murmured.

Sevine glanced at her brother, then bowed her head, “Thank you, Magister.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jekeb rushed, hushed. 

“And those water lances!” Maecilia went on, beaming at Illenus. “You must be so pleased with her performance today! Those lines looked very similar to yours if I’m not mistaken! I sense a natural talent.”

“Talent is all well and good,” Sevine began, her lips curling in a subtle smile as she brushed a stray auburn lock from her face. “But the suggestion undermines the prodigious amount of work required to obtain mastery.”

“Filia has been working with both Sevine and Jekeb on those spells since they could hardly cast!” Sevine’s father interjected cheerily. “It was exquisite to see them performed to such perfection this afternoon.”

The younger Lamonis snorted from across the table and Dorian thought he saw the elder pinch him as his face resumed a neutral expression.

“Accomplished with the quarterstaff as well.” Aquinea noted coldly, taking the bottle from Dorian and filling her glass idly. The wine nearly graced the rim of her goblet. “She’ll make a fine Magister one day.”

“Shame about your nephew,” Magister Lamonis nodded towards Rilienus, a poor mockery of dismay. “Comes from such lively stock. I would’ve expected a bit more verve. Are you alright, boy? You took quite the beating out there.”

Halward turned his gaze across the table towards Lamonis, his mouth a thin line. “Yes, by all means, let’s shift the conversation to the middling performance of an orphaned boy. Perhaps it’ll distract us all from that indecent proposal you championed just last week. Bellicose and foolish, outright attacking Par Vollen itself.”

“Because you believe the might of the Imperium could not stand against a few thousand savages?” Magister Lamonis chuckled. “We could end the Qunari problem once and for all.”

“Spare me, Jessik.” Halward rolled his eyes. “Even the Archon’s lowest scullery maid knows how much you profit from weapons of war. An ill-advised venture to say the least, particularly with the rumors erupting from the South. No. Holding our winnings in Seheron and rebuilding from their last raids on our coastline should be priority until the dog lords stop barking about darkspawn.”

“What is he talking about, Mother?” Jekeb murmured to Dorian’s far right. 

“Whispers from the south, nothing more,” Filia Illenus replied, taking her son’s hand and squeezing it. “Hardly a fitting conversation on such a lovely day, Magister Pavus.”

“Shall I save it for a torrential downpour, then?” Halward raised a brow. “I do not intend to shelter my son from the fact that he and his peers stand to inherit the geopolitical chessboard we leave for them. To do so would be the height of arrogance. I will not permit the pawns to be set in motion towards the Imperium’s downfall while I—“

“The Imperium has stood for over two thousand years—“ Magister Lamonis interjected.

“Yes, and if it’s to stand another two thousand, we must proceed with caution, if a Blight is truly coming—“

“It will be a problem for the Fereldens, not us. Perhaps it will be a good thing for southern expansion—“

“The lyrium trade has already been disrupted.” Halward was tapping his fingers against the table, the tone of his voice cool and impassive. “And you’re advocating aggression against the Qunari now? Who is to be more affected by the shortage? Certainly not the horned mongrels. Whether or not the darkspawn cross the border is irrelevant—“

“Let the goat men fight the darkspawn, then.” Lamonis chuckled. “Two enemies gone. And then we can focus on the north.”

Aquinea coughed lightly into her napkin as Halward prepared to make a retort. Instead he settled back into his chair, scowling over his wine. Dorian suppressed a slight smile, sipping his own, grateful that Maecilia has been quiet for a few blessed minutes.

“There’s always Kal-Sharok,” Maecilia smiled pleasantly into his wine glass. “If what you’re truly concerned about an uninterrupted lyrium trade, Halward.” He traced the edge of his glass with his thumb. “My contacts have made some very reasonable offers.”

“I’m sure they have. There’s something off about every sample I’ve received from that thaig. Dorian could speak more to the details.”

“Different doesn’t have to mean wrong,” Maecilia leaned back. “And as bright as your boy clearly is, takes after you so well, a few more years in the kiln won’t hurt him. It does what it needs to do. That’s what matters.” 

“Until it doesn’t,” Dorian added, his father nodding, giving him permission to continue. “The resonance is all wrong—the molecular structure has shifted somehow, to the point where the harmonic frequencies will undoubtedly interfere with one another at a more regular rate than lyrium taken from other sources. The vibrations resulting can cause a systematic failure in casting, particularly if multiple mages are downing the stuff. It needs more careful study before being given to the Legion for widespread use.”

Lips stained by wine parted in a wide, wide smile. “What a thought. From the mouths of babes. So we’ll have your vote to open negotiations, Halward. Your boy just said. More studies. Can’t have studies without supply.”

“Studies. Done by impartial researchers. Not profiteers. And if it can be done without straining relations with Orzammar.” Halward met his eyes steadily. “If those conditions can be met, in addition to a few others we can discuss in private, perhaps we can begin to have a discussion about the possibility of a trade negotiation with Kal-Sharok.”

“Wonderful,” Maecilia lifted his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Halward raised a glass and the rest of his family cautiously followed suit, Dorian taking the smallest sip he could manage before setting his back down again.

“The children are our future,” the Magister across from him clapped Rilienus hard on the shoulder. “And what a bright, fascinating future it will be.”   


* * *

  
Ostensibly, Dorian was giving his parents a tour of the grounds and courtyard in the brief time between hors d’oeuvres and dinner. Practically, both of the Pavus men were being chided by an irate Aquinea as they walked through the hedge maze lit with floating lanterns in the waning light.

“A fucking nuisance,” Halward spat, scuffing his boot against the stepping stones. “That man is a--”

“Magister of the Tevinter Imperium,” Aquinea finished, exhaling sharply. “Who played you like a lyre. Both of you. You could’ve blown off that salacious comment, but  _ no _ , instead you drew attention to it. They’ll all have noted it. Poked a bruise, so to speak. Poked a bruise and listened to you yelp. Dorian?”

He turned to her, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yes, Mother?”

“I don’t care what you get up to, if you’re getting up to anything, which I’m assuming you  _ are _ , so long as you’re discreet. Your father and I will not be pleased to be forced to clean up the sort of mess you left in Vyrantium here, too.”

He bit his lip. Three boys gone missing, found tangled together, wrapped in nothing but wine-stained linens and silk ropes in an upscale brothel in the center of the city. The others had sang like songbirds when Magister Pavus had approached them, cold fury in his eyes. The Pavus family had quietly arranged for their transfer to a tiny circle north of Asariel. Dorian was expelled for an unsanctioned duel the following week.

“ _ Rumors _ , Dorian, have their consequences.” Halward muttered, running a hand through gray-streaked hair. When had the lines on his face begun to appear? His father was just beginning to look old. “Every whisper is ammunition that our enemies can use against us. You saw that today. I believe you owe us both an explanation for that lackluster performance today.”

“Lackluster?” Dorian tilted his head, trying to feign confusion. 

“We finally saw a spark of your talent in the final event. Were you asleep the rest of the day?”

Dorian ran his finger along the petal of a bright red rose, sighing, wondering how much longer this charade would go on before he could return to Rilienus’ rooms. “No, Father.”

“What then?”

“Halward, really?” Aquinea chuckled, quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re that blind. He wishes to stay. Clearly. You should be asking  _ why _ . What makes this place different from any of the others?”

“Care to illuminate us, Dorian?” Halward turned to him, pressing a hand to each of his shoulders.

Aquinea tutted, shaking her head. “Doesn’t really matter. I thought you’d be pleased with the development, Halward. Our son hasn’t been in trouble since the first week he was here. It’s a record, I believe. He’s practically reformed.”

“It’s true,” Dorian sighed, lifting his chin to meet his father’s eyes. “I’ve grown weary. It’s been pleasant to just study. And... I’ve begun to make friends.” 

“Friends, indeed,” Aquinea smiled wryly. “A most blessed change of pace.”

The corner of Halward’s lips drew into a slight smile as his arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I can’t begin to tell you how pleased this makes me, my son. Why did you not just tell me earlier?”

Dorian drew back, surprised and confused. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had embraced him. “I didn’t think you would believe me.”

“Dorian,” he murmured, sighing. “We are on the same side, you and I. I only wish for you to be prepared for what is to come and I would’ve taught you these lessons gently if I thought they would’ve taken hold. People, our enemies and allies alike, have been watching you from the moment you were born. They will continue to do so until your corpse is interred in our mausoleum.” Halward squeezed him tightly. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. For you to begin to settle into your future. You can stay, with my blessing, provided you stay out of trouble. It’s not the most prestigious institution, but…” He sighed. “I’m willing to overlook it, I suppose. You’ve never needed coursework to advance your education. But for the love of the Maker, no more hiding who you are. Especially not in front of outside spectators.”

A bell clanged in the distance, a reminder of the hour. Halward looked at him with a fond smile, his features softening into something paternal, perhaps for the first time in over a decade. 

“Thank you, Father.” He said quietly, as he followed his parents back into the castle proper.

##  Rilienus

The dueling hall was full of wisps twisting and twining around each other like pollen in a stirring breeze as the quartet played. They moved like sound, like dreams, flickering and half-remembered by the dancers beneath them. The music was the most pleasant part. The music and the wisps. The robes that swept the dark floors - golds and silvers and foreign reds and distant purples. Beautiful. Well. Most of them, he thought, watching a horrid fluffy green number waft pass him like a toxic gas. 

“You don’t have a sweetheart to dance with?”

He lowered his gaze as Quaeren sidled up next to him. “No, Dominus,” he murmured. “My obligations to the Praefector are time-consuming.”

“That’s what you said last year.” He patted his shoulder companionably. Rilienus watched the wisps twirl. “That’s alright, my boy. It must be difficult. With people knowing.”

“I am learning much greater control, Uncle. I am so grateful for the opportunity.”

“I know you are.” He chucked his chin, smiling. All warmth. All warmth and soft edges. Not a hint of what lay beneath. A master. A master giving a master class, every time Rilienus had the misfortune to breathe his air. “You just keep on doing the best that you can. We’ll have you out of here as soon as we can.”

“Thank you, Dominus.”

“I only want what’s best for you. You know that.”

“I do, Dominus.”

“Good. Good,” he patted his shoulder again. “Don’t sit on the sidelines all night, my boy. You deserve to let loose just as much as the next one. One mistake shouldn’t ruin your life.”

As his uncle meandered around the edge of the dance floor, joining Lamonis and a pair of other Magisters near one of the churning candelabras of wine, Rilienus retreated from the bench where he’d perched and went in search of a darker corner. Somewhere quiet, out of the way, where he could hopefully be seen enough to count as present and still manage to avoid another interlude with Quaeren. Or, Maker forbid, another glimpse of Dorian’s back in that robe. He bit the inside of his cheek and folded himself behind some statuary. 

Muffled voices echoed from a nearby alcove, familiar, a man and a woman speaking quickly and clipped in low tones. Away from the revelry. Away from Quaeren and his uncomfortable presence. Away from Dorian’s eyes, which, despite his promises otherwise, had caught his own once or twice during that awful dinner. He couldn’t quite make out their words, not from this distance. 

Rilienus slipped around the statue of Andraste breaking her chains and eased in and out of the shadows on the edge of the hall, slipping closer until the voices were only barely discernible through the music. He tilted his head back, watching the wisps again, and used their dance as a way to clear his mind and focus on the sounds. 

“--can’t seriously believe he’s decided he likes a place enough not to tear the walls down just because it provides a quiet opportunity to study.” There was a smug assurance in the woman’s voice. Perfectly convinced she was correct. “You could give him free rein in the Magisterial library and he’d not be content, because it was  _ you  _ who gave it to him.”

A sigh, heavy, and the crinkling of silks as one of them sat. “And what might you be implying, Aquinea?”

“He’s either plotting something, or--” she paused, the sound of fingernails tapping against glass. “He’s met someone. Unsure which as of yet. Both, probably, is the most likely scenario.”

“Met someone?  _ Vishante kaffas _ , I am still mopping up the loose ends from the last time Dorian took it upon himself to  _ meet _ someone.”

“Several someones, if memory serves.” Laughter in her voice, cold as the snowflakes he imagined covered Montsimmard in the wintertime. 

A low groan. “Why, yes, I needed a reminder. Thank you very much for providing me with one.”

“If we’re lucky, it’s the girl from the table whom that great oaf Maecilia pointed out. A respectable lineage, talent, and Dorian seems to like her. And Magister Illenus isn’t the most dreadful of the lot. He could do worse. He hates Livia.”

“Herathinos owns almost half of Vol Dorma. An alliance with one of the western houses would be of great advantage--”

“Dorian  _ hates _ Livia. And when your son is forced to interact with people and things that he dislikes, rooms tend to burn down in short order. There was also the young blonde who kissed him earlier, in the stands. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it. No Magisterial seat, but her parents are wealthy Alti. He could do worse, still.”

“He certainly has proven as much in recent years.” The man sighed again. “Do you really think-”

“It doesn’t matter what you or I think. Watch him. Have him watched.”

“I  _ have  _ been. I get reports from the Praeceptor every week.”

“ _ More _ eyes. Ones that don’t belong to authority figures he knows well enough to avoid. See what develops.” 

The sound of a chair scratching against the stone floor. “As you wish. Would you care for a dance, Lady Pavus? There happens to be music playing, in case you couldn’t hear it.”

“Not particularly,” she snorted. “All of the wine in Minrathous couldn’t convince me to step out onto the floor with this lot. And I certainly haven’t come close to all of the wine in this room.”

Rilienus traced the room with his eyes, searching for that damned gilded dragon and finding it in an instant- as though he’d never quite lost track of it. A betrayal of the subconscious mind. He allowed himself a moment to trace the curve of Dorian’s ear with his eyes, remembering his scent, then shifted away from the alcove to watch the wisps from somewhere new. Perhaps somewhere with food. Where he could have a vantage to see who they went to speak to when they left that alcove.

Aquinea Pavus strode across the room like a hawk circling her prey, dressed in a flowing silk robe, just a shade lighter than her son’s, with a similarly tailored cape adorned with white dragonscale epaulets shimmering on each shoulder. Her eyes were dark, almost black, unlike Dorian’s, and as hard as obsidian. He’d seen the shadow of her expression on Dorian’s face once before, on the day he’d given him the Eye. She took up residence at a table scattered with others she clearly recognized, pulled a bottle from the middle of the table, and refilled her glass. She spoke absently, her eyes flitting over to her son at regular intervals.

Dorian’s father didn’t follow her from the alcove immediately, nor did he join her table when he left. Rilienus saw him slip outside, into the evening, apparently content to let his wife scout for a suitable spy.

Except he’d heard what they’d said. He wound to the edge of the dueling hall and paused near the door, watching the dancers, before he followed the magister into the night. 

Halward Pavus crossed the courtyards quickly, his steps hardly making a sound against the grass. There were a few others outside, enjoying the gardens, but they were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay him any heed as he wound his way around the castle. 

Towards the dormitory towers. As though he’d been that way before. Perhaps he had--many of the Magisters made charitable donations to the school and would tour it from time to time. He’d never taken notice of Pavus before. He was just another magister. 

There should’ve been nothing of interest in that direction, unless he meant to go snooping. Rilienus caught a subtle glint of silver in the moonlight, rings shifting, and the magister vanished, the depressed grass the only indication of his presence. 

Fuck. 

He darted a glance back over his shoulder as he slipped into the shadows by the fountain, circling it to gather the darkness around him like a cloak. Risks. Awful, terrible, harrying risks. He spun the ring on his pinky, blurring across the empty courtyard towards his own tower and took the stairs three at a time, his pulse an arrhythmic timpani in his head. He hadn’t made the portal to travel through  _ himself _ , hadn’t worked the math for anyone other than Dorian, but he couldn’t risk it being found. 

He brushed through his wards, kicked his door shut behind him, and dove headlong through the wall. 

Like crashing into the sea at midnight- freezing, crackling. Not the Fade. The Veil. Fluid and flexing, full of stars and ciphers. A shallow path. A roaring in his ears. He ran full tilt until he merged into a face full of cloth. 

Fuck shit fuck. 

Dropped to his knees and listened, holding his breath. Silence. 

He whistled softly, drawing the dark around him again and slipped into the room. Weeks since he’d seen the inside of this room. Since he’d channeled Dorian unexpectedly, found him, learned him- “ _ A moi _ ,” he hissed, snapped his fingers, and the anchoring stones flew to him as one from Dorian’s hiding places. 

A creak of a floor board. 

Rilienus spun and shoved the window open, pouring over the ledge even as he sang the spiders’ silk to his fingers. He clung to the stones, scrambling up the wall as quickly as he could manage.  _ Don’t look down, don’t look back _ \- He clamored up and onto the roof and flattened himself against the rough edges of the shingles. 

Waited. Waited for the drag of magic that would wrap around him, pull him, find him. He slapped his ward down onto his stomach and held still, staring at the open, dark sky. 

The green glow of magelight caught his attention as he tried in vain to catch his breath. Long minutes he waited, heart pounding so hard in his ears he was almost certain Pavus could hear it from a few floors below. Slowly, the light began to dim, fading, until only the moon and stars shone in the inky twilight.

The real, glorious, finite, beautiful sky. 

He listened to the music in the distance, below, blending with the latent indiscernible chatter. He felt the gems one by one in his pockets, counting them again and again. 

All of them. He had all of them. 

He counted them again anyway.

His skin still tingled from the trip alongside the Veil. Shadows within shadows. 

Had he been seen? Had he left a trail? A resonance? 

His wards were good. His wards were better than ‘good’; excellent, complex, and strong. He’d worked with them, improved upon them, used them for years without raising so much as a brow. But the professors and the Brothers weren’t Magisters. Competing against a member of the Senate was dangerous. That was part of why he’d been working for nearly a decade to create scenarios where he would be underestimated, ignored, given the space to work slowly and quietly. 

That plan hadn’t included rushing to outsmart or outcast a foreign entity. The Order was his world, true, but if Halward Pavus had even an ounce of Dorian’s capabilities-

His breath hitched. His eyes blurred. His throat burned. 

He hummed low, finding his center. Down. He needed to go down. See what he could still learn, if anything. He needed his pulse to steady first. No weakness. No mistakes. 

* * *

By the time Rilienus stepped back into the dueling hall, the dancers were filling the floor. He’d clung to the wall outside Dorian’s window, brushing his senses and spells and orbs and everything else he could think of over the room until he was so low on mana he wasn’t entirely sure his clinging spell would last to get him to the nearest ramparts. But he’d made it. 

Nothing. Halward had gone in, stayed for the length of his magelight, and retreated, leaving nothing? Searching, then. Searching for… something. What had he found? What crumbs had they left that they hadn’t realized- 

He’d tucked the gems into the chest in his room, resealing the wards. Old patterns. Old patterns were always easy. They wanted to be, wanted the flow and find their path. 

He felt strange, numb, as he moved through the crowd. Hollow inside. Filled by the dark of night, having spat out the stars like broken teeth. It was easier to play dumb when he was empty but for the dregs of his own mana. A good lesson. He collected a cup from the dragon that poured wine from its tongue and wove towards the Pavuses again. Stumbles, just like in Staves. Little ones. Enough to blend.

He felt attention catch and fall away, like walking through spiderwebs, until he was finally close enough to see their eyes in the reflection of his glass. 

“Is that so?” Aquinea quietly intoned. Her elegant fingers crossed a jeweled collar at her neck. “I can only hope my ears are sharper than your eyes, then, my lord.”

He ambled slowly past, glancing between the cup and the dancers. 

Halward raised his eyes as he passed, his eyebrows lifting with them, his mouth a thin, tight line. He touched his wife’s arm, tilting his head to murmur into her ear. She slipped off, winding through the dancers towards her son, who was spinning Lethina around the floor. Aquinea tapped Dorian on the shoulder, giving him a tepid smile and kissing the top of his head. 

She returned to Halward, lacing her arm through his, and lead him from the hall.

Cold. Cold like a stone that had been sinking into the deepest reaches of the sea for years and was still falling. Falling. Dark. He had barely any mana left, but that didn’t matter. If they knew, then mana wouldn’t help anyway. Another source of power, perhaps. A way to keep his secret. He could always hear that song now, whispering. Not a strident cry like Dorian’s magic. Sibilant and soft as snake scales on marble. He turned away, following their movements in the reflection of mirrors and glass. Straightened his spine and took a meandering path behind them. 

Towards the gate. Slippered steps in the moonlight. As soon as they were out of sight of the castle, she pulled her arm away and met his eyes. 

“If there’s anything to be learned, anything we can use to our advantage, we will.” Aquinea murmured. “It would be convenient if his natural inclinations happened to align with our plans for him, for once.”

Rilienus eased behind a column, rolling his rings one by one. The movement soothed. He listened.

“I’ll be glad to see the other side of this dismal place. I don’t know how Dorian can stand it.” Halward sighed, massaging his temples. “Perhaps he  _ has  _ found a bit of peace here. So long as it’s of a quiet sort, it shouldn’t interfere.”

“One can only hope he’s learned a bit of discretion.” 

They nodded towards the footmen and passed through the castle’s wards, walking off towards the waiting line of carriages.

A breath. A clear breath for the first time in what felt like hours. Dizzying to fill his lungs. He rested his head back against the column and breathed again. Deep and slow. Twisting his rings until he could no longer hear his own heartbeat. 


	22. one minute past (mini-chapter)

## Dorian

Exhausted. His feet were aching as he followed the other students back towards the dormitories. Only the knowledge that he’d soon be able to collapse into Rilienus’ arms propelled him forward towards his room. 

Six dances with Lethina, nearly as many with Sevine, and one each with a smattering with others, Emilia and Arabella and Sidra. He felt he could sleep for an eternity quite comfortably. 

He opened the door to his room and stepped inside, looking around. He slid his cloak off, folding it and setting it on his desk. He tilted his head when he saw a few papers that he was certain had been inside his top drawer were now scattered on the surface. Equations for artificing. Designs for his magical storage device. He rearranged them and placed them back inside his desk.

Cassius was passed out, too much wine, snoring loudly on his bunk. Blessed simplicity. 

Dorian crossed the floor towards his closet, summoning his simulacra and compelling it to take his spot on his bed, not changing from his evening wear. He walked quickly towards the back of the closet, nearly breaking into a run-

His body slammed into a solid stone wall, the echo resounding throughout the small space. Dorian blinked, shaking his head and staring at the spot the portal usually occupied. He placed a hand on the wall and it didn’t pass through. 

He could make out a rustling coming from the other room and Dorian peeked through the crack in the door. His heart began to pound as Cassius sat up, looked around the room, and promptly fell back asleep.

The enchanted stones that allowed him to traverse the edge of the Fade were gone, all of them, vanished from their hiding places. He ran his fingers across the smooth stone again, pressing his head against the wall. 

Someone had been in his room. Someone had been in his room and had gone through his desk and had found the stones and taken them. 

His heart was hammering, his vision spinning as he felt his tired feet carry him quickly through the room, out into the hallway, through the tower, across the courtyard, taking the steps two at a time as he ran through the night towards Rilienus’ room and pounded on his door.

Pounded because no matter how hard he knocked, the damned thing didn’t make a lick of sound. Still, it cracked, and he found Ril peering out at him in horror. “What-“ he frowned, peering out into the hall. “Get in. Old gods and new,” he hissed.

Dorian followed, eyes wide. He felt a stream of blood trickling down his forehead. “My room, _amatus_ , it’s been searched. The stones are _gone_. Maker, someone _knows_.”

He shook his head, drawing new wards on his door and stalking back to his desk. There. The gems were there, lined up, encircled with salt and chalk. “Had to. Didn’t know how to get them back to you,” he muttered. There was ink staining his fingers, papers scattered over his desk where he’d been working some sort of… resonance management?

“It was you?” Dorian nearly collapsed, crumpling slightly, barely steadying himself against the wall. “Oh, thank the Maker. Why? What happened tonight?”

“They said they were going to find someone to spy on you. I wanted to figure out who- Your father was going to- I had to do something, he’d have found them.” He chewed the back of his blackened thumb, muttering, “Something. Careless.” He glanced up. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Ran into a Blighted wall.” Dorian drew a finger across his forehead, his fingers marred with a trickle of blood. “My father? I spoke with him earlier and he seemed-- _kaffas_. I should’ve known he wouldn’t leave well enough alone. He _hugged_ me and then he ran off to spy on me? What a bastard.”

“I thought-“ Rilienus turned towards him. “I thought I could keep a step ahead if we knew who they were going to- but he went to the dorms instead. I didn’t know what else to do.” He held out a hand, “Let me look at your head.”

“I’m glad you did. He would’ve discovered us for a certainty had you not.” Dorian walked towards him, the room tilting on its axis. “How did you manage to pick them up before my father arrived?”

“How do you think?” he asked, drawing Dorian to his lap and smoothing a hand across his brow. Cool fingertips cooled further by their work; the heavy scent of squid ink and parchment, rock salt and blood. “I used it. Quite a gash.” He thumbed the blood, whistling quietly, and Dorian felt a tug, as though a dull hook had closed around his collarbone, drawing him forward. A moment, an instant. The ache in his head softened and retreated. “Better.” 

“You--” Dorian wrapped his arms around him, smiling in relief. “You saved us both, then. Are you well?”

“I hate this day.”

Dorian laughed, a tired, weak peal, holding him tightly as his body shook. “Dreadful. We should’ve stayed here instead, damn the consequences. You were right.”

Rilienus dropped his head to Dorian’s shoulder, still petting his brow, “I don’t know what to do.”

“What happened, _amatus_?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were spying on my parents?” Dorian nuzzled the top of his head. “Always a good decision. Did you hear anything else?”

“They agree with me that Sevine would be a better match for you.”

Dorian pressed his lips to his temple, breathing him in. “Ah, and they and I both agree with you that your uncle is wretched. We should form a secret society.”

“To know him is to want to swallow the pits of olives.” 

“My restraint should probably be praised. I wanted to immolate him within the first few sentences he uttered. He’s positively vile, the way he treats you, the way he feigns innocence for his crimes…” Dorian squeezed his shoulders tightly, kissing his forehead. “If it’s not too much trouble, I hope I’m there to see it when you take him down.”

“I pray that I can.” He breathed deeply, his exhale warm and unsteady against Dorian’s neck. “I don’t know how to protect us. It’s going to be worse now. Worse than I thought.”

“We’ll manage. We have to.” Dorian took his hand and led him to the bed, sitting down heavily, their fingers still tightly entangled. “You mentioned something about them finding a spy? Do you know if they managed to? Who it might be?”

“No, Dorian,” he said, sounding eerily hollow. “I was a little busy diving out your window with enchanted gems and hiding from a Blighted Magister.” He sighed, his head hanging. “Someone. Someone new. They left in good spirits. And you were right about the Praeceptor.” He shut his eyes. “What a mess.”

“You’re incredibly brave, _mon rossignol_ , flying out of my window with incriminating evidence.” 

“I don’t feel brave. I feel like a madman.”

Dorian ran a hand through Rilienus’ curls, a small smile on his lips. “Maybe you are. Just a touch. We both are.” 

“Is it enough?” he asked softly, lifting Dorian’s hand to his lips. “Is it enough to be a little mad? To live terrified of dying? Is it worth it to you?”

“Worth it?” Dorian chuckled, meeting his emerald eyes, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a wide smile. “It’s the only thing that matters, _amatus_.”

He nodded slowly, gathering Dorian against him with a watery smile. “Love and murder, then,” he murmured, nudging Dorian’s nose as he met his lips. “Not a terrible way to go.”

“Going?” Dorian ran a thumb along his cheekbone. “I don’t intend to let you go anywhere. And I suppose if it must come to murder to keep it that way, then so be it.”

“Don’t let me, then,” he whispered, cool-tipped fingers tangling into his hair, pressing against his scalp as he fell back to the pillows. “You can keep me as long as you like. And I’ll keep you. I’ll keep you safe, Dorian. I swear it.”

Fear, yes. Dorian felt its drag, today more than any of the other days they’d spent together in the oppressive shadow of the Order of Argent. Fear, like bile in his stomach, souring all it touched. Fear, blanketing them, trapping the stifling heat of the Tevinter sun and the Praeceptor’s fire tails against their skin. Fear that they’d lose the miracle they’d dug from out of the rubble of their lives, that the haven they’d built for themselves was at risk of being razed like a heretic’s cathedral. Fear that they’d be torn asunder, that even their memories would be taken from them, melted away like snowflakes in summer.

“ _Donc je vais te garder aussi longtemps que je respire_ ,” Dorian murmured, feeling his eyes shut heavily against the silken pillowcase, his arms wrapped around Rilienus like a vice.


	23. Already with thee! tender is the night (1/2) *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Joy and love between men ensuing.

## Dorian

The ringing of a distant bell lulled him out of his lazy slumber. His body didn’t move at first, despite his mind’s protests. Iron in his bones, weighing him down, his movements hampered like he was swimming through syrup. Dorian could hardly tell which splayed limbs belonged to him and which to Rilienus who, for once, was still sleeping soundly in his arms. 

As soon as Dorian could open his eyes, they settled upon Rilienus. They’d passed out in their clothing and had gotten drenched in sweat for their negligence. Dorian wiped his own brow, gazing fondly at the man who had risked everything to save them both. He was still and silent, heavy in his arms in a way Dorian couldn’t remember him being. He always seemed to be waking up or falling asleep when Dorian caught him, or lying beside him, watching him, the way Dorian was now. 

Rilienus exhaled sharply, brows tightening slightly, as one by one his muscles tensed, his eyes flickering quickly beneath closed lids. A hitched breath that was held as he was, in forced stillness, until it seemed like he wasn’t likely to breathe again- then another sharp exhale. Dreams, then. Poor ones, if the pained expression on his face was any indication. 

Dorian eased a hand out from under his side and lightly gripped Rilienus’ forearm, caressing his dewy skin with his thumb. As glad as he was to see Rilienus resting, he ached at the sight of him twitching and gasping like a fish. He began to move slowly, trying to gently pull him back from the nightmare’s grip.

Each touch seemed to ease him, as though he could smooth the cobwebs from Rilienus’ mind; his breaths smoothed into a deep natural rhythm, following the cadence of Dorian’s hand. His muscles melted to the soft weight of steady sleep. 

Dorian continued to watch him, stroking his arm and hand regularly, not wishing for him to wake now that he’d settled. Beautiful, the way his sweat-damp curls clung to his forehead, long eyelashes fluttering slightly with each exhale. Lips that begged to be kissed. He sighed, contentedly waiting for him to wake.

Time passed like honey, drizzling into the warm tea of the morning. Soft gold light through the filter of the air. Rilienus uttered a quick sigh, rolling into Dorian, nuzzling into his neck. 

Dorian curved towards him, pressing his cheek into Rilienus’ forehead, inhaling deeply. “ _Salve philomela mea_ ,” he murmured against Rilienus’ hair.

A low hum vibrated against his skin as Rilienus brushed his lips under his jaw. “ _Meus et dulci_.” His hand slid up Dorian’s back as he sighed, “Robes.”

“Hmm?” Dorian smiled, tilting his chin up to meet his lips, a salty sheen of sweat on their faces. “Is there something you want from me?”

“Mmhmm.” His tongue darted to lick Dorian’s lips as he nudged Dorian onto his back. “Something.”

“Oh?” Dorian smirked, kissing him again. “You’re lively this morning. Do tell.”

“Robes,” he mumbled against his chin, peering at him from beneath heavy lids. “In my bed.”

Dorian chuckled, smile widening. “Yes. You broke that rule, too, though. And it’s a problem that can be easily remedied.”

He hummed, splaying his hand over Dorian’s side to trace the embroidered movement of the dragon. “Easily. You have to be unseamed,” he murmured, the scruff of his cheek rough against Dorian’s as he gently nibbled his way across his jaw. “And you’ve wrinkled your silk.” He licked Dorian’s earlobe. “Silk like water,” he sighed, stroked down Dorian’s belly. “What’s softer? Your skin or this silk?”

“ _Very_ lively, it seems.” Dorian took his hands and slid them back up to his chest. “I’ll leave that determination to your discerning fingers, amatus. Release me?”

Rilienus nibbled down his neck, chuckling sleepily, “You want release?” He skimmed his fingers under the edge of the deep neckline, tracing the hem and Dorian’s chest at the same time as his hips rolled. “Hmm?”

Unusual. He usually woke to Rilienus’ nose lodged in a book in the mornings, having been awake for hours already. Certainly not throwing himself at him, kissing and teasing.

“Hmm, perhaps you should try and sleep more often. You’re a sight to behold when you’re lost in dreams.” Dorian placed his hands on his waist, squeezing him lightly. “My robes. Would you like me to ask nicely?”

“Mmhmm,” he licked the tendon beneath Dorian’s chin, peering up at him. “Nicely.”

He quirked an eyebrow, his eyes lingering on Rilienus’. “Could you please help me out of my robes, _mon rossignol_ , my darling, _mon sauveur_ , my beloved, love of my life? Or I’ll be forced to tear my fine, soft silk.”

“Sins,” he murmured. “How would you know where you begin and it ends.” He nuzzled against the crook of Dorian’s neck and breathed deep, palming him from chest to thigh and back. “My decadent caramel,” he hummed. “I’ll honor your finely phrased request.” He kissed across his collarbone and began mouthing down the edge of his neckline, his tongue slick and hot as it dipped beneath the silk. “You’re melting.”

Dorian arched his neck, biting his lip as Rilienus’ mouth trailed along the sharp angle of the fabric, moaning low as goosebumps began to crawl across his flesh. “How could I not, in your meteoric presence?”

“My mana’s back,” he whispered against his ribs. “Shall I cool you off?” he whistled quietly, skimming his fingertips down the cloth. The silk shifted as though a soft wind rolled out beneath it, chilling against his skin. “Can’t have you melting completely before I’m done with you.” He rubbed his chin across Dorian’s bare skin, tickling his tightened flesh with the short curls of his beard. “I like that you let me do these things. I like that you let me please you.” He tipped to press a kiss to Dorian’s sternum. “I do. Please you. Yes?”

Dorian laughed, tangling his fingers through dark curls, staring into green eyes tinged with red as his lips curled into a smirk. “ _Tu as mis le feu à mon corps._ I’m ablaze, constantly, just at the sight of you. Please me? Not quite the term I’d use.” He massaged Rilienus’ scalp, his hands clutching tightly in sweat-soaked hair. “You enrapture me.”

“Close enough,” he chuckled, smiling with heavy, lazy eyes as he kissed down the center of Dorian’s bare chest. “Did I mention how much I like this?” He dragged his fingertips down Dorian’s thighs, splaying his hands to squeeze him as he stroked back up to his thighs. 

“Repeatedly,” Dorian said, raising a brow. “What are you up to, Rilienus? I’m sensing a particular brand of deviancy, but I can’t parse what you wish of me quite yet.”

“I should think it’s evident.” He nipped at his navel, kissing lower. “You’re the one wearing the Eye.” His lips curled as he glanced back up towards Dorian- that mischievous, infernal smirk. “You’re supposed to behave.” His palm slid up the inside of Dorian’s thigh to cup him. “You’re reformed, remember?”

Dorian felt a heat rising towards his cheeks, radiating throughout his entire body. His eyes widened and the corners of his mustache curled along with his smile. “I’ve been given no directives, my love. But I’d be happy to demonstrate my reformation if you will it so.”

“Directives.” His brows drew together just a little. “Yes. I-” He cleared his throat, “You’re going to tell me exactly what you like and what you want. And I’m going to take you,” he murmured, spreading Dorian’s silk-painted thighs apart. “I’m going to fill you, in all your finery. While you touch yourself.” He dampened his lips, “...does that suit you?”

“It does suit, very much so,” Dorian whispered, lowering his eyes in reverence as the tempo of his heart began to race. “Is that an order, Dominus? To tell you what I like? To unfurl my desires?”

Rilienus palmed him through the silk, “Yes.” The word was almost a hiss as he kissed across Dorian’s abdomen and let his other hand stroke up and down his thigh from belt to greaves and back. “Yes. I want to know what you like, what feels good. I want to know how to play your body like my harp.”

“Very well,” Dorian murmured, his voice almost a low moan. “I wish for you to paint my body using your lips and teeth as brushes, darkening my skin from your touch.” He closed just eyes, leaning his head back, rocking his hips towards Rilienus’ fingers. “For you to bring me towards the edge, over and over, only to pull me back, until I’m gasping in frustration.” Dorian’s tongue flitted over his own bottom lip, every movement a fractal of color behind his eyelids. “For you to permit me to pleasure you, repeatedly.” Dorian chuckled, opening his eyes a slit to look at his lover. “I suppose ‘release’ was never really my goal. At least not for a good, long while.”

“No?” Maker, the man had eyes like a snake- Unrelenting, unblinking, heavy lidded forests. His tongue darted out to taste the silk as he watched him, pressing dabs of wet heat to Dorian’s skin through the cooled cloth. “You don’t want to-“ he lifted a brow, curling his fingers around him to stroke him more firmly. “You don’t want to, or you don’t want me to let you?”

“Mmm…” Dorian purred, his eyes shutting again. “The latter. Want to. Don’t let me. Until I’ve earned it.”

“Earned it,” he repeated softly. His breath was a hot wind through the continued cool breeze beneath the silk. “You’ll have to be very specific then,” he murmured, lapping a wet, warm path between Dorian's legs. “So I know how close I can bring you.” He licked him through the silk, tiny dabs of his tongue to the sensitive, trapped tip. “Yes?”

“For now,” Dorian conceded, his hands clenching against the silk sheets. “Yes. After years of study? I’d imagine you’d be able to discern for yourself.” He smirked, trailing a hand down to brush Rilienus’ curls. “Oh, were you asking about my proximity in this particular moment? Not hardly. You’ll find me surprisingly resilient when I want to be. I heard the bells chiming. We’ve hours before afternoon prayers.”

His brow tightened even as he leaned into Dorian’s touch. “You say resilient. I say stubbor- You heard the bells?” He glanced towards the window. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight,” Dorian tilted his head, his smile dropping slightly. “Did you forget what day it is?”

“No, I only- I missed the dawn.” He nuzzled Dorian’s hip, his lips quirking. “Thankfully, there’s still a chance my dawn will come.”

Dorian leaned up on his elbows, raised an eyebrow, fixed him with a questioning gaze before covering his eyes and collapsing back to the pillows in a fit of laughter. “Too many—“ he managed to say while his body was still quaking. “Dreadful romance novels. _Vishante kaffas_ , Rilienus Maecilia. You’re a horrible, awful, ridiculous man.”

Rilienus’ eyes narrowed playfully as he kissed across the silk to lean his cheek to Dorian’s length through the silk. “I told you so.” He closed his teeth gently over him, then kissed him. “You never listen.”

“I _rarely_ listen.” Dorian chuckled, his laughter dying down. “People are so rarely able to accurately assess themselves. But in this case—you’re right, your sense of humor could use some refinement.”

“I disagree. It had the desired effect.” He smiled, breathing in deep as he stroked him with his cheek. “You’re beautiful when you laugh. Caramelized sunlight. _Mon aube_.” 

“What other effects do you hope to elicit, _amatus_?”

“Similar ones. Quick exhales and breathless gasps.” He brushed his thumb along the seam of silk beneath his chin and Dorian felt the breeze he’d generated beneath the silk escape through the sudden gap in cloth. “What are my chances, do you think?”

“Based upon previous experience?” Dorian peered at him with a wry grin. “Very high.”

“One can only hope.” Rilienus bent between Dorian’s thighs, his breath warm on Dorian’s smalls as he whistled a low harmony and melted that silk as though it were ice in the sun. “Comfortable?”

Dorian gasped, biting his lip, watching his lover intently, nodding as he leaned back onto the pillows. “Yes, quite. Though, I’m sure I’m about to be made even more comfortable shortly.”

“Good.” He smoothed his palms down the insides of Dorian’s thighs, squeezing him gently. “Knees up and out, please,” he murmured, his tongue darting out to flick hot and wet against his sack. “I like your greaves in my periphery.”

He obliged, sighing, shifting to accommodate Rilienus, fluffing the pillows behind his head to watch him with heavily lidded eyes. “And why is that?”

“I enjoy you in your battle armor.” He slipped his fingers beneath the silk to wrap around him, caressing his shaft as he licked and kissed beneath. “I like knowing that I can slip beneath it when I please. That I can get inside your guard. That you want me to.” He peered up, warm emeralds glinting. “And they’re very pretty.”

“Yes, it’s my guard I want you inside of—“

“It is,” he chuckled warmly. “Your guard. Your sheath. You’re very particular.”

“I have every right to be particular.” Dorian leaned into his touches, rolling his hips closer. “As do you.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, flattening his tongue at the base of his shaft. That vibration rolled from him up through Dorian’s length, his spine, sending shimmers of electricity through his skin. 

The hairs on his arms and legs stood straight as Dorian shivered, inhaling sharply and wrapping his fingers among Rilienus’ tangled locks. “You wished for me to—“ A shaky breath. “Tell you what I enjoy? I can let you know how you make me feel…”

Rilienus glanced up sharply, “Yes?” His thumb rolled over the tip of Dorian’s cock in slow circles as he drew him out, rubbing his lips up his length. “There’s something you enjoy?”

“Yes—“ Dorian started, his eyelashes fluttering in an attempt to keep his eyes open. “I love the look on your face when you take me between your lips. Like—“ His fingers twirled in Rilienus’ hair. “A prayer. It’s intoxicating watching you love me.”

“It’s intoxicating loving you,” Rilienus murmured against his skin. “You are-” he licked up the length of him, humming again. “-mead and brandy and the Nocen Sea,” he finished, then closed his lips around him and sent another thrill of static into his core. 

“And that—“ Dorian gasped, smiling, his eyes glinting in the morning light. “Feels phenomenal. A summer thunderstorm…”

Waves lapped, clouds rolled. Rilienus mapped his flesh with his tongue, bobbing like a ship on the sea, taking more and more of him into his mouth. He slid a hand under Dorian’s ass, squeezing him against his palm and pulling him up into him, then caught Dorian’s hand against his head. Distant lightning trails and shuddering thunder as the heat began to beat against them again, sweat pooling down the centerline of Dorian’s chest. Rilienus’ tongue alternated between heat and chill, his eyes falling closed with the sheer enjoyment of having Dorian in his mouth- It was his own private ecstasy, each time, peace and pleasure smoothing his features. He’d said it was like a prayer, and it was. He looked like he was communing with a higher power. He moved and kissed and tasted him as though Dorian were some decadent wine he’d been dying for a sip of- That thought alone was thrilling. That he yearned for him, in the hours they were apart, salivating, wishing he could take him in his mouth once more…

Another roll of thunder trembled across the surface of his skin as Rilienus dipped his tongue to the tip of his cock to taste. His fingers trailed across Dorian’s wrist as he hummed, singing some sweet melody to himself, to his mana, to Dorian. Serenades in sunlight. 

“Rilienus,” he mumbled, murmured, part of him not wanting it to stop, but the rest knowing the end would be all the sweeter if he did. “Might I make a request?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you still fully clothed?”

Rilienus glanced up, blinking as though from a daze, and released him with a faint, wet pop. “Fairness.” He licked his lips. “No?”

Dorian flashed a wry grin, slipping his hand down to cup Rilienus’ cheek. “And what would I have to do to get you to undress for me?”

“Ask?” He huffed softly. “Too easy, hm?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, raking at the scruff of his beard with his fingers. “Alright.” He pressed his lips together into a firm line, a poor impression of himself outside of this room. “I think now would be a good time for you to confess those sins you’ve hinted at. Select one. Spare no details.” He rolled off the side of the bed, smoothing his hands down the front of his robes. “And stay just like that.” He nodded at him, “Though, you can touch yourself if you must. I know better than to completely restrain a deviant.”

“As you wish,” Dorian chuckled, grinning. “I’ve committed a great many sins. Lying, just yesterday—“

“Let’s- not talk about yesterday.” He lifted his brows. “Alright?”

“Violence against the Maker’s children—“

“Dull. Seen it before.”

“Disobeying my elders, my parents in particular—“

“I swear, Dorian- Aren’t you supposed to be the one following my orders? You’re going to make me ask?”

An expression of mock innocence crossed his face, wide eyes and a small, sweet smile. “I was following your orders, _amatus_. They just weren’t very specific.”

Rilienus pursed his lips. “I want to know about the ‘mess’ in Vyrantium.” He sat back on his desk, “Specific enough?”

“Ah, Maker, how’d you manage to hear about that?” Dorian ran a hand cautiously through his hair. “Don’t tell me the rumors spread to this desolate place…”

“I’ve pieced it together from various scraps, as is my talent. Spill. Or I’ll remain clothed and you’ll remain as you are.”

“Very well then,” Dorian sighed, peering at him sitting on the surface like an interrogator. “There were five of us, wealthy heirs to various fortunes. Dreadfully bored at the conclusion of our examinations. Not nearly so eventful as ours. Two were handsome enough, though not as pretty or half as clever as yourself. The other two weren’t exactly to my taste, but passable. I said we should take a carriage into town to celebrate our victories, the end of term, such things. And we did just that.”

Rilienus inclined his head, opening the first of the clasps of his wrinkled robe with a flick of his fingers. “The Maker smiles on you, Pavus. Unburden yourself.”

Dorian laughed, shaking his head. “Studying for the Chantry, are you? You do realize you’re supposed to remain celibate, yes? A terrible shame to deprive the world of your considerable talents.”

“‘Supposed’ has little to do with what happens, I’d wager. Similar to here, no?” He plucked absently at the second clasp. “Did you want to criticize my performance or do as I ask?”

“Ah yes. As I was saying, we took a carriage into Vyrantium and proceeded to partake in a fabulous meal at the top of one of the tallest buildings in the city, covered with enchanted statues that move ever so slightly when no eyes are upon them. Could see the Nocen sea, bright and beautiful and sparkling in the distance, just far enough from the fishmongers to not smell them while allowing the restaurant to procure some of the finest seafood in Tevinter. I believe—if I recall correctly—it was some sort of shellfish curry that I ordered that evening, mollusks and shrimp and—“

“Dorian.” Rilienus narrowed his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“Flavor, it’s flavor, am I to tell the story or not?” Dorian scoffed, looking at the back of his hands. “And there he goes, criticizing my performance, right after criticizing my criticism of his.”

“It’s only that I had a very pleasant briny flavor on my tongue only moments ago, and now I’m being made to sit here and listen to a description of a meal.” He itched his brow. “It hardly seems equitable.”

“Of course, my darling. I’ll skip ahead towards a meal more to your taste.” Dorian’s smile didn’t fade in the slightest. “So impatient, are you, my love. And so lovely a sight when you’re testy. Let’s see… there was a long meal, several bottles of wine, perhaps half another of brandy, and before I knew it, I’d booked a room in the finest brothel south of Carastes. Under Father’s name, no less.”

“Before you knew it?” he asked, chuckling. “This is something one stumbles upon? How do you know it was the finest one?”

“Brothels draw deviants like corpses flies. And you’ve had me marked as one such deviant since the moment we met.” Dorian grinned running a hand along his inner thigh, spreading his legs wider before Rilienus. “And experimentation, of course. Any respectable scion should know the names and locations of the best houses of ill-repute across the country, should the need ever arise.”

“Should they?” he asked, a hint of a smirk curving his lips. “Alright. You were stumbling accidentally onward.” 

“Lessons for when you’re out, my dear one. I was. Up to my rented room, with four men who were becoming increasingly more attractive the more wine I’d consumed.”

“Fortunately for you.” 

“Yes,” Dorian winked, running his thumb gingerly along the tip of his shaft. “Have I earned another button?”

“How attractive?” Rilienus squinted at him. “I’m formulating a mental image.”

“Mm… Let’s see…” He paused, considering. “Ah, can you imagine Lamonis, if he were a bit more muscular and didn’t walk about all day like he’d something shoved up his arse?”

Rilienus waved a hand vaguely in front of his face, a pinched expression gathering between his brows. “I take it back. I don’t want that image. And I feel moderately offended to keep company with anyone like Lamonis.”

“Oh, come off of it. Just imagine if he weren’t a complete prick.”

“I have no interest in him or his prick, thank you.”

“Yes, fair enough, nor do I. Are you questioning my tastes in men?”

“ _Now_ I am.” He widened his eyes. “Lamonis.” He pressed the backs of his fingers to his lips and made a quiet vomiting noise.

“Fine, fine. I’ve been with a few duds before.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, I like you the best, clearly. I’ve never told someone I loved them before. And I _do_ love you, very much. Even if you apparently disapprove of my previous partners.”

“Try me again. Someone less grotesque this time.” He beckoned, looking as though he’d just sucked a lemon. “I need a palate cleanser.”

Dorian stood, striding to where Rilienus was perched, slipping between his legs and running a hand down the skin that single undone clasp had revealed. “Kailish.” Dorian shrugged. “He’s young enough. If I weren’t spoken for, I could have some very interesting dueling lessons.”

“You could. I’ve heard he speaks decent Orlesian among other languages.” He skimmed his fingers up Dorian’s sides, studying him curiously, “Are you? Spoken for?”

“I thought that was clear, _mon rossignol_.” Dorian leaned towards him, their lips only a hair’s breadth away. “I’m yours.”

Rilienus traced the steep edge of Dorian’s neckline, searching. Inches away, Dorian could watch the specks of deeper green and brighter gold flecks in his eyes. “You are,” he whispered, closing his legs around him to pull him closer. “Here,” he brushed his fingers across his chest, nudging Dorian’s nose with his own. “I don’t own you. I don’t expect to. If you want Kailish… Don’t get caught.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Dorian trailed his lips along Rilienus’ jaw. “It’s not necessary. I’ll let you know if it ever becomes so. I’ve—never had what we have before. Closeness. I appreciate the beauty of others, but it doesn’t mean I want them like I want you.”

“I didn’t think it existed. This.” He leaned back to meet Dorian’s gaze. “Closeness. Trust. Love. I didn’t think I was capable of it, if it did- or that I’d already watched it die out of the world. But you are… enervating. Invigorating. Intoxicating.” He traced Dorian’s cheek with his thumb, “I don’t mind if you- I don’t mind.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve said: I don’t expect to completely restrain a deviant.” He cleared his throat. “Well. So. I want you. I want you to be as close to free as you can be. And Kailish is... pleasant.” He smiled slightly, “So I’ve heard.”

“Have I earned another clasp yet, amatus?” Dorian chuckled, pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting himself on his tongue. “Enough sins for a small victory?”

“Yes,” he sighed, kissing the corner of his lips. “Victory is yours. As I am.” He flicked the clasp open and lifted his brows. “Even though you broke the rules. I’ll be lenient. Scamper on back to your pedestal, Pavus, and finish your tale.”

Dorian kissed his cheek, chuckling against his skin. “I suppose I’m only partially reformed.” He sauntered back to the bed and flopped down, his pants still split down the center. “An evening of drinking and carousing, that quickly devolved into more carnal pleasures…”

“Here’s where you lose me.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on long, steepled fingers. “What does one even do with more than one person? Do they observe? Or do you?”

“You _can_ watch, yes. If you’ve an inclination. But that’s certainly not all.” Dorian leaned up on his elbows, the same sly smile across his lips. “Where’s your sense of imagination? It’s quite straightforward having two at once. You’ve got a mouth, yes?”

“Do you mean to be insulting or does it come naturally to you? You should be very well aware that I have a mouth.” He crossed his arms. “What does-” He frowned, eyes widening. “What, at the same time? How do you concentrate?”

“There we are. The moment of realization.” Dorian laughed, crossing his arms behind his head. “I’ll admit it does make it a bit harder to focus. But if your partners have any talent whatsoever, they’ll largely work out the timings for you.”

“Fascinating.” Rilienus’ gaze swept over him. “Which position did you take in this particular debauched encounter?”

“Which?” Dorian chuckled again, peering at him. “All three, at different points during the evening, of course.”

“Maker’s breath.” He dabbed his lower lip with his tongue and opened another clasp. “That sounds like quite a sight. And… were they of any particular talent? One assumes? Based on the continued experimentation?”

“Enough. We were also quite inebriated, so my remembrance of any of our talent is probably significantly exaggerated. Three of us passed out drunk in the room I booked and we were found by a concerned party the next afternoon, still snoring.” Dorian sighed, his shoulders deflating slightly. “Father was informed and it put a dramatic and premature end to my experiments. I didn’t love them, but I liked them well enough that it upset me to see them punished because of my actions.”

“Not yours alone.” Rilienus nudged off the desk, crossing to perch beside him. He brushed a curl from Dorian’s forehead, peering down at him. “If they weren’t well aware of the risks, themselves, then they were fools. I doubt they were that, since you liked them.”

“No, not mine alone.” Dorian took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “That’s the ‘Vyrantium mess’, as you so creativity dubbed it. My parents have been working on scrubbing those rumors for years. I—I’m not going to let the same thing happen to you. I’ll stand against my father and your uncle both, if I need to.”

“My uncle would be overjoyed. Can you imagine the gossip? The opportunity to bend over backwards to shepherd his wayward nephew back to righteousness again? Some Chantry somewhere far removed, likely, where I’d leap to my death, tragically.” He kissed Dorian’s head. “If anything happens, you take care of yourself. Promise me that. No falling on your sword. Mine-” He squeezed Dorian’s hand, “You can fall on mine. Not yours. Understand?”

“I’m not going to just abandon you to him, Rilienus; how would you expect me to live with myself?”

“However you like, so long as you live.” He searched Dorian’s gaze, steady, “Your father will punish you. He’ll move you to another Circle. My uncle - if he thinks you’re a threat to him - will kill you. He won’t wait. Do you understand? You must not risk that. You put your head down, you throw me over however he asks, and you keep living.”

“I can’t let him hurt you, not any more than he already has.” Dorian’s eyes were stinging. “I don’t care what he does to me. I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I care. _I_ do. Dorian. There’s nothing he can do to me that he hasn’t already done. There’s nothing he can take away. Except you.” His palms were dry when they cupped Dorian’s cheeks, bending to kiss him. “You are my beating heart. I need you to survive. No matter what.”

“Then we only have one option. He doesn’t find out. He never finds out. Nobody does. Not until our enemies are in the ground.”

Rilienus nodded, pressing his forehead to Dorian’s. “And when they are, we’ll make new enemies. Together.” He smiled, fierce and dark. “And we’ll end them, too. Again and again, until we are free. We _will_ be free. I can see that much. Someday. No one will stop us.”

“Someday, _mon rossignol_.” Dorian murmured, caressing his cheek with the palm of his hand. “For now, is your offer to fill me in all of my finery still an option? It didn’t happen how I expected, but… I suppose none of what we have was expected, then, was it?”

He leaned into Dorian’s palm, kissing the base of his thumb. “You seemed to see it coming,” he hummed. “You peeled me right out of my armor. It’s only right that I should sheathe myself in yours.” 

“One can only hope burying yourself inside of me can forestall any more of those dreadful jests,” Dorian kissed him again, breathing in the smell of rock salt and squid ink and sweat, holding Rilienus tightly against his chest. “I adore you. And your armor. And your unimaginably preposterous jokes, for some reason; don’t ask me to explain it. I’d like to spend the rest of the morning firmly anchored in the present. We can worry about the future later. For now, I just want you, naked and panting.”

“Ah, thank the Maker.” Rilienus kissed him hard, then slipped off the bed to strip out of his robes. They fell to the floor, weighted by the medals that he’d concealed himself to earn, as he kicked his trousers off and crawled back onto the bed, collapsing alongside Dorian and wrapping his arms around him tight. “I adore you, you beautiful, powerful, glorious man.” He sighed, tucking his face to the crook of his neck so that Dorian could feel his scruff, rough, against his skin. “I would shout it from the rooftops if I could. I will, the first chance I get; I will sing your glories to the sun and watch the Maker’s light blossom in benediction over us-” His lips traveled up to the curve of Dorian’s jaw, kisses on kisses- sweet, soft, brushes. “I love your laughter. I love your sighs. I love the way your voice changes with your mood like an opal. I love you. I love you, Dorian Pavus,” he murmured against his ear. “I love you and I’m yours.”

Dorian sighed, curling against him, reveling in every touch, each exhalation a cool breeze on a summer’s day. Every word echoing through his mind, a mantra, reminding him of what he was fighting to protect. “And I yours, Rilienus Maecilia. Always. Never forget it.”

“Never let me.” Strong, nimble fingers. “Let me- let me love you.” Holding onto him, drawing those gasps that he’d admitted to wanting- flicks of fingertips, the rush of Rilienus’ palms over his body. He was built for worship - from the bow of his head to the concentrated tension in his hands as he prayed with lips and touch. He beckoned him, inside of him, until Dorian was ready to shout- catching his cries and whimpers on his tongue. Steam and sweat, the sun baking the yellow light until it was nearly tangible.

“Off,” Dorian moaned against his cheek, sweat falling from his brow like gentle raindrops. He rolled Rilienus on his side, kissing him, grasping at him, trying to reclaim the breaths that he’d absconded with. Dorian pulled away slowly, stealing kisses as he flipped onto his stomach, before rising on his hands and knees. “I want you,” he murmured, eyes closed. “Inside of me, around me, touching me-I want you to become the air I breathe, to fill my lungs until they’re close to bursting, only to be exhaled to surround me again. I want to forget everything but you—the feel of your skin and tongue and teeth, the smell of your body melding into mine, the taste of you heavy on my tongue, the sound of your voice crying my name, the sight of your beautiful eyes closing in ecstasy—Rilienus, please, take me, I’m yours.”

He shuddered as Rilienus moved over him, against him, like a living cloak. Gentle whispering kisses to the back of his neck. Those palms smoothing over his back and sides and- “Yes,” Rilienus sighed, easing into him. “I love you,” he breathed against his spine, then his neck as he drew him up onto his knees and held him close, rolling his hips. His teeth closed over the shell of his ear on a hum, sated and hungry at once. Inch by precious inch. That steady pressure, filling him, binding them. 

Dorian’s head dropped as he bit his lip to keep from calling out. Blanketed in liquid sunlight. Rilienus’ body molded to him like water, like the silk that was still clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, his lips and fingers moving to exactly where they were needed, the moment before Dorian realized he needed them there. 

He rocked back against Rilienus and a prism of light exploded behind his closed eyes, fractals of color shading the room he could almost see through his eyelids. Dorian gasped for air, forgetting to breathe, inhaling the scent of him, before forgetting again. An endless cycle, a rolling tide, inexorable as the setting of the sun. 

“ _Noie-moi dans tes baisers, mon amour,_ ” Dorian managed to mumble, his voice growing strangled at the end of the phrase as Rilienus pressed into him again. “Ril--”

Rilienus sighed low, cradling Dorian’s head against his shoulder. “I’m with you,” he murmured, tasting him, slick and soft. “Dorian-” He was a steady, unerring drive into that spot that made lights melt and air glisten like salt on his tongue. “Dorian,” he panted in cadence with his thrusts, his palm flattening on Dorian’s thigh. “You are amazing. You feel- Maker’s breath, you feel like life itself- tight and soft and beautiful and drowning all at once. My own, my dawn, my Dorian-”

“Every time you say my name—“ Dorian breathed, the muscles in his legs starting to weaken. “I ascend, only to—wish to fall into your arms again.”

“Fall,” he whispered, gripping his silks, pressing points of heat and sweat and silk to his thigh. The cloth tightened where he pulled, dragging watersilk across his skin as Rilienus took him- filled him- “Dorian, my Dorian, fall-” Threads of static coursing through the taut threads of his robes. Cold heat that made his hair stand on end and his breath tighten further in his lungs. Relentless, that driving pressure inside of him, tension and sensation warring on his skin, and still Rilienus kissed him. “Your name tastes like hidden brandy and purple figs and your sweat when I’ve pleased you- wet and sweet and treasure-filled-” Kissed- no, drank his moans and breaths like wine. His fingers raked down Dorian’s body, curling around him to stroke, hold- “Dorian-”

“Mmm,” Dorian sighed, sending sparks towards Rilienus’ lips and fingers, shocks of electricity running along the planes where their bodies touched. The world was full of sparkling, twinkling stars, as bright as the fire that burned within each of them, between them, through them, a tap drawn directly from the center of the Fade and rooted into their bodies. “Catch me, then, my love.”

Rilienus moaned into him, over him, through him, thrusting harder as the lights tripped and crackled over them both. “Yes- Dorian, yes- Always, yes-“ he gasped, grasping Dorian’s chest with strong, callused fingers. He licked Dorian’s lower lip again and again, seeking, slipping, singing down the length of his tongue. Sending ripples of humming pleasure down through his center and into his core. “Dorian,” he sighed, “Dorian, I belong to you, I belong inside of you, yours, I’m yours-“

“You do, _amatus_ , you are.” Dorian kissed him once more, the room filling with the scent of metal and ozone from the trickles of their summoned lightning, and then flipped him onto his back. He dove down to meet Rilienus’ lips, eager and waiting, a slight look of surprise on his face. “I needed to see your face,” he whispered, nibbling on Rilienus’ ear as he guided him back to his entrance, clutching his hand and throwing his head back as he descended. “Your eyes remind me of--orchard fields and fresh grass and catching butterflies on a summer day and--” Dorian gasped as Rilienus’ fingers tightened around his hardened length. “Freedom. Boundless as the sky, unending as the sea. I taste it when I’m with you--I feel it radiating through my breath, my bones and I-- _fasta vass_ \--I” He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore; every sensation threatened to overwhelm him. “Kiss me, Rilienus.”

“Yes-“ Rilienus cupped the back of his neck, drawing him close enough to taste him, and the bend of Dorian’s spine felt white hot with their combined power as though he were blown glass. “Dorian-“ he murmured against his lips, twining their tongues as his fingers tightened on his hand, his shaft. “Dorian-“ he panted, meeting him again and again, thrust for thrust, amidst the wet slap of their flesh and the crescendo of their rising breaths, the pulse rioting in Dorian’s ears. “Dorian-“ His teeth fastened on Dorian’s lip, pulled at him as he groaned- lower now, lilting tenor notes dissolving into gravel. “Dorian-“

Dorian bucked against him, crying out against lips as soft and wet as a blossom in the morning. He heard their rings click together dully, from behind a wall of glass. His muscles tightened, walls spasming around Rilienus, sending stray sparks flying against the sheets as his grip on his mana loosened with every twitch. The silk of the sheets was slow to burn, but the fabric eventually caught, sending fire dancing along Dorian’s side. 

A barrier wrapped around them, cast almost instinctively, the fabric of the shield Rilienus had shown him almost a month ago absorbed the flickering flames and filtered their energy back into his body. 

It wasn’t enough to keep his body upright, and Dorian collapsed heavily to the pillow, a low, rolling laughter blooming from his chest. 

Laughter that Rilienus nibbled like grapes from his lips as he rolled on top of him, scooping under Dorian’s knee with his arm as he thrust deeper, more. Following him over the edge, his measured pace unsteady and gasping in the final moments. That furrow of concentration that built between his brows followed by the cry of surprise and power as he fell, heat blooming inside of him. Rilienus blinked, dazed, holding himself aloft - by some virtue of recent practice and remaining tension - long enough to kiss him before his eyes slid closed. “Fire,” he murmured vaguely. 

“I’m melting,” Dorian chuckled, kissing his forehead. “You’ve gone and made me melt.”

“Good,” he sighed, resting his damp forehead to Dorian’s. A trickle of sweat slid from his brow and down the curve of Dorian’s temple. “Good.”

“Stay here, just like this, for a while,” he murmured, brushing away a sodden curl. “Yes?”

Rilienus hummed low, rolling his forehead from side to side. “Forever, if you like.”

“Eternity it is then, _mon rossingol_.” Dorian smiled against his skin. “Until the earth turns to dust beneath us and we’re swept away on a wayward breeze.”

“As you will.”   
  


_TBC_


	24. Already with thee! tender is the night (2/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. This is a rollercoaster. Weird combination of warnings here:  
> References to torture and child abuse. Hurt/comfort. Deeply saccharine moments. References to vengeance and murder.

Rilienus’ sigh was warm and unsteady, still. His heart racing against Dorian’s. His lips curled into a pleased, mischievous smirk. “You set my bed on fire.”

“My way of telling you that I fancy you. And I do. Very much.”

“All your control...” He chuckled, kissing Dorian’s cheek. “Terribly kind of you to lose it for me.”

Dorian nuzzled against his neck, kissing along his jaw. “My apologies,  _ amatus _ . You have that effect on me.”

“No apologies necessary.” He swallowed, sighing. “Perhaps I’ll frame the charred bits. Put them on the wall. Begin a collection.”

“Of what, my love? Things of yours I’ve incidentally destroyed?”

“Mmhmm,” Rilienus laughed quietly. “My tarnished medals.”

“Ah!” Dorian exclaimed, squeezing him tightly. “Then I’ve managed to do it! I’ve despoiled you, my formerly pristine prefect. We’ll need to celebrate such an amazing feat of endurance. It only took me… How long precisely? Half an hour? Depending upon how one counts the time?”

“According to you, time cannot _be_ counted, no? Only bundled together like so much thread on a spool.” He pressed his lips to Dorian’s, wincing, “I heard myself. I regret it. Don’t- Don’t start. I need… oh, at least half an hour and a cup of tea for my brain to attempt to keep up with yours.”

“How unfortunate. I suppose you could bundle me up like thread on a spool in the meantime. I feel like I’ve been boiled in water.” Dorian chuckled, catching his lips again and nipping at them. “Magical theory in half an hour, then. I’ll jot it down in my book of appointments.”

“And tea.” Rilienus tucked his head to the side and rubbed the scruff of his beard against Dorian’s cheek like a cat. “And food. Andraste’s bright light, food. I’m starving. Are you? Should I feed you?” 

“ _ Famished _ . You don’t happen to have tea and snacks tucked away in one of your pockets, do you?”

“I might.” He flicked his tongue to Dorian’s earlobe. “For obedient spools of thread. I might.”

Dorian’s eyes widened along with his smile. “And for disobedient ones? A cake? A feast? An entire castle of my own?”

“You’ve a tower of your own already,” he rolled his hips, smirking. “Or you did. You will again. Soon if I can help it.”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,” Dorian shook his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Up you get. You know, I think it’s somehow getting  _ worse _ , that sense of humor of yours.”

“I was promised an eternity, I believe. There was no clause about humor.” Rilienus sat up on his elbows, smiling down at him. “Now you see why they keep me locked up here and miserable. Look what happens when I’m happy. Horrifying things.”

“Truly the fabric of nightmares, Rilienus, my love.” Dorian leaned up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back down. “Oh, the children you must frighten with your godawful puns. No wonder there are such vile rumors about you. You must’ve embarrassed an underclassman half to death on at least one occasion.” 

“It’s your fault. Entirely your fault.” He traced Dorian’s hairline with his thumb. “I promise. Not a soul outside of this room has been exposed to anything more than a glower.” He narrowed his eyes playfully, “You are my only victim.”

“Then no one has ever had the opportunity to tell you how ravishing your smile is?” Dorian looked up to meet his eyes, mossy green. “Let me be the first. It could set a forest aflame. Best keep it hidden, for love of the flora.”

“So that’s why you attempted to burn down my bed, is it? It wasn’t your fault at all, but only the residual effect of seeing my teeth?”

“Even the  _ idea  _ of seeing your teeth makes me want to light things on fire. You know, I still have dark, delicious fantasies remembering that moment you confronted that blighter Heritia. ‘Test my teeth’; oh, it sent shivers down my spine.”

“Did it really?” That warm smile slipped sideways, turned sly like a shadow. “I do enjoy sending shivers down your spine.” 

“It was phenomenal. Theatrical. I told you that you could’ve taken me right there, on the benches, in front of the entire school? Maker, I would’ve let you.” Dorian nibbled the curve of his ear, laughing lightly. “And yes, yes, you’re quite talented. Shivers, moans, cries, et cetera. I’m powerless in your grasp, unable to resist your touches, and I ache for you when you’re away. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Wasted breath, for it clearly had. Pride lighting his gentle forest eyes. “Unable to resist?” Rilienus nudged his nose. “Aching?” He nipped at his chin, humming low. “Keep talking that way. I believe I’m gaining a second wind.”

“After tea? And breakfast?” Dorian asked hopefully, kissing the tip of his nose. “I can be very good. Only for you, though. Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation as a rabble rouser.”

“May the Maker spare us from that day.” He kissed his cheek gently. “Alright. I am moving because you are a very good spool of thread. And because I am helpless to deny you anything. Do you want out of your…” he sighed, “frankly delectable trappings?”

“If you’d be so kind. I’ll even leave them with you, if you wish. You can breathe me in the scant moments you don’t have me around.”

“Quite the high opinion you have of yourself, thinking I can’t bear to be without so much as your scent for an instant.” He buried his face against the crook of Dorian’s neck and breathed deep, “I’ve no idea where you got such an idea.” 

“Ah, so it’s an unnecessary gift, then? I’ll take them back to my room and have them laundered and--”

Rilienus’ teeth clipped the side of his neck. “You’ll do no such thing.” He shifted to the side, drawing Dorian with him, and skimmed his fingers down his spine, releasing the threads that bound him. The warmth of the room felt cool against the suddenly bared flesh, if only for a moment. “I thank you for indulging me,” he kissed his chin. “Very much.”

“You’re welcome. Very much.” Dorian bit his lip as he felt Rilienus slip from him, trailing warm slickness down his inner thigh as he left. “I enjoy fabrics, too, you know. I’d be very interested to see anything you’ve fashioned. And if there was something you wished to design…” Dorian squeezed his hand, smiling widely. “Perhaps I could attempt to procure the materials for you.”

“From the same secret passage through which your brandy arrives?” he asked, amused, peeling the sweat-soaked silk down Dorian’s arms. He kissed Dorian’s skin as it was revealed, soft droplets of ice with each brush of his lips.

“Could very well be. Forbidden artifacts from the outside world at your disposal.” Dorian smiled, unhooking his belt and greaves and shimmying out of the rest of the silk on his torso and legs. “I’ll write a letter.”

“What excuse would you give for asking for such a thing?” he asked wryly, rolling to his back to stretch and fiddle with his rings. The small glyphed kettle in his corner shifted as it filled with water and the dweomer on its sides gleamed with heat. He flexed his fingers, peeling open a pocket in the air and retrieved a bowl of dates, a small glass jar of honey, and a pair of pale green sacks that clicked lightly as he tossed them to Dorian.

“Help me come up with one.” Dorian opened the first, pouring a handful of almonds into his hand, crossing his legs and popping one into his mouth. His stomach started to rumble at the smell of food and he quickly ate another handful. “I was thinking ‘my handsome lover wants to wrap me in Orlesian brocade and kiss me until I’ve forgotten my own name’. Yes?”

Rilienus snorted, tucking his arm under Dorian’s neck. “So you’ve decided to leave, after all? So changeable.”

“See, this is why I need you. You’re the clever one, hmm? I thought it was a perfectly reasonable request.” Dorian rolled his head, rubbing up against Rilienus’ arm. “‘There’s to be a play and I’ve been cast in the lead role, as befits my talent and stature. And I need yards and yards of fabric for my many costume changes.’”

“Oh, I’m sure that your parents will be delighted to come and see your performance.” He balanced the bowl of dates on his stomach and nibbled one of them, eyeing Dorian curiously. “For that matter, so am I.”

“Is this a request for another poetry reading, then?” Dorian slid a hand up the inside of his thigh. “I could give my monologue naked this time. Though, that wouldn’t really explain the need for cloth…” 

Rilienus sighed, “Rabble rouser, indeed.” He swatted at Dorian’s hand, nudging the dates onto him, and rolled off the bed to pour the boiled water into tall glasses he’d dusted herbs into. “Although, I would be curious what the Father would do if you climbed the dais to spout Orlesian in the nude.” He returned to the bed, pouring honey into the hot glasses and settled back alongside Dorian. “Drown in his own drool, most likely.”

“Do you think I’m his type?” Dorian rolled his eyes, grimacing slightly. “So strange of you to try and set me up with the faculty. Is that one of your base desires, to watch me twirl an older man around my finger like spun sugar? Anyone else I should add to my list?”

“I didn’t-” he rested his tea on his knee, brushing his fingers over Dorian’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to ‘set you up’. I was only saying if you had a need, Kailish seems… safe. More safe than other alternatives I can think of. I wouldn’t wish the Father on you. He’s… unpleasant. Has an inconceivable odor of pickled fish about him. And an appetite for fresh meat. Fortunately, all meat ages out at some point.”

“ _ Maker _ , you don’t mean...?” Dorian looked at him, wide-eyed and horrified. “Please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are.”

Rilienus lifted a brow. “What- no. The youngest students we usually get are sixteen. My earlier arrival was a special dispensation from the Magistrate. But he does like the new students, before they get their bearings. Gets a kick, I suppose, out of being a benefactor.”

“A  _ benefactor _ ? Tell me, is he hurting children?” 

He frowned, circling the rim of his glass with his fingers. “So far as I can tell, no. He’s…” he squinted. “Opportunistic. Everyone’s a merchant of something. I told you that. There was a boy… when I was young and naive. I thought-” he shook his head, “In any case, he sidestepped nimbly into the Chantry ranks and out of the Order’s control, by virtue of a trade with the Father.”

Dorian’s hand tightened around the small purse full of almonds, his knuckles turning white against the pale green. “What sort of  _ trade _ ?”

“What he had. What he was willing to offer.” He tilted his head, “What?”

“Has anyone ever leveraged you with a similar sort of offer?” Dorian asked quietly, his eyes fixed on his hands. “You’ve been here for a long time. You grew up here. That sort of thing--it’s  _ wrong _ . To take advantage of an imprisoned child.”

“Is it? I made a few trades, years ago, before it became… unsafe to do so. Once I was established in the hierarchy, I couldn’t risk it any longer - barterers of that nature can’t always be predicted - but I was frustrated and lonely and it seemed useful at the time.” He swirled the tea in his glass, watching the steam. “I spent most of my time the first few years in the Praeceptor’s charge for a very different reason, you know. No time to make any kind of bargain. I probably would have, if I’d had a  chance. After the box. After the Chain. I’d have happily joined the Chantry at that point. Perhaps I should have. Alas.” He frowned. “I apologize. No need for you to join me in maudlin memories.”

Dorian set the pouch aside, placing one hand on each of Rilienus’, around his steaming mug of tea. He looked up, a small, sad smile tugging the corners of his lips. “Lean your head upon my chest and unburden your sorrows there. Sing your despair into the fabric of my soul. A weight shared can be carried over great distances, where secrets kept can crush the solitary man under their load.” He pressed a kiss to Rilienus’ forehead, soft as a fallen flower. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Very well. Perhaps I simply don’t like to remember, unless I need to.” He brushed the backs of his knuckles down Dorian’s arm. “I’ve had years with those thoughts and only weeks with joy.” 

“We’ll just need to balance that equation, won’t we?” Dorian smiled, taking a date and holding it in front of Rilienus’ lips. “Ten years of misery? So that’s another ten of joy just to get back to neutral. Maker, you’ll tire of me by then for a certainty.”

“I doubt that,” Rilienus sniffed, nibbling at the dried fruit. “You might tire of  _ me _ . There are less stunted offerings outside these walls.”

“ _ Amatus _ ,” Dorian sighed, cupping his cheek with his free hand. “A poor turn of phrase on my part. You’re not stunted. You’ve just not had a chance to experience a particular set of pleasures. And besides… We’re making significant progress on your education. I’m an excellent teacher, in addition to my many other finer qualities.”

“You are,” he murmured. “And a muse.” He leaned into Dorian’s touch, shutting his eyes. “Although I don’t think I’m suited to bossing you about.”

“You’re in good company, I suppose,” Doran chuckled, running a hand through the scruff on his cheek. “You, my parents, the Praeceptor, the rest of the Imperium… Though perhaps you’ll get better at it over time. Ten years should offer quite a few opportunities for practice, yes?”

Rilienus cracked an eye open. “You want that? Truly?”

“Of course,” he smiled, simply, sweetly. “Do you not?”

“The years or the practice?”

“Either?” Dorian tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Both? Neither, if you’re disinclined to answer my question?”

“Dorian,” he sighed, turning to nip at Dorian’s palm. 

“Yes?” Dorian cast him a sideways glance, holding up the bag of almonds as an offering to appease him as Rilienus sat, speechless, gnawing on his arm like a tiny animal. “If you keep going at me like that, I’m not likely to last ten years.”

“What if I want more than ten?” he asked quietly. 

Dorian felt the heat rise to his cheeks, his heart thrumming in his chest as he dropped the almonds back to the bed, spilling them on the partially burnt sheets. “Maker’s breath. Really?” 

“Do you not?” Rilienus peered at him, half-hidden in the curve of his hand.

“Rilienus, I-” Dorian paused, meeting his eyes, taking his cheek in the other hand. “Whatever life I have left to live, I would share with you, happily, if that’s what you desire.”

“Good,” he smiled quickly, plucking an almond off the sheets and resting it on Dorian’s lip. “Then we’re of an accord.”

Dorian let it fall into his mouth, crunching it slowly between his teeth. He picked up his mug from the bedside table for the first time and blew on it slowly before taking a sip. Swallow. Breathe. Soothe the racing of his heart. “You wish to spend your life with me?” he asked, finally, his voice low and quiet. “I know it may come as a—I—“ Dorian gazed into the rippling pool of his tea. “ _ Fasta vass _ . I never thought anyone would.”

Rilienus tipped his chin up gently, caressing the half-moon of his lip with his thumb. “The time that I have, I would give to you. I would see you free and full. I would hold your cloak while you tip the world’s scales. Anyone who sees how remarkable you are would do the same.” He kissed the ridge of Dorian’s palm, sober. “I love you. To know you is to be helpless to do otherwise. And I  _ am _ helpless in your onslaught. I am, oh, so very glad to be trampled to life.” 

“You’re wrong, you know. Not ‘anyone’. Just you.” Dorian handed him his tea, plumes of steam rising from its surface. He leaned over and reached across the bed for his belt, fiddling with the fastenings until he’d loosened some of the golden links. Holding a pair of them in his hand, his brow knit in concentration as he cast, the metal pooling into his palm with a flash of elemental. Dorian swirled his other finger over his flattened hand, drawing circular shapes out of the molten gold. 

Twin rings sat flat in his open hand as Dorian looked up from his creation. “A promise, then.  _ Je suis à toi jusqu'à ce que nous retournions du côté du créateur. _ ” He searched Rilienus’ eyes, staring at him, drinking up his colors, the sharpness of his expression. “You make me believe in insane, nonsensical concepts like destiny. I very much wish to be a part of yours, if you’d be kind enough to permit me.”

“They’re hardly nonsensical, Dorian,” he whispered, setting his glass alongside Dorian’s on the nightstand. “Nor insane. We might be.” He leaned back against the tall wooden headboard and gathered Dorian to him, tracing his features with his fingertips. “We might be, but I am pleased to be in your company.” He rested his hand over Dorian’s, cupping the rings between their palms, “Whatever we are, wherever destiny takes us, I will always love you. You have my word.”

Dorian squeezed his hand, burying his head against Rilienus’ chest, the heat of the small chamber making their skin melt between their bodies. “I did promise you eternity, just a few minutes ago.” Dorian’s voice was muffled against his flesh, the vibrations of his words rippling across his chest. “I suppose I was more serious about it than I realized.”

“You needn’t be.” Rilienus kissed the top of his head. “I won’t ask you for more than you’d give. This, just this, here, with you, is more than I ever thought I would know.”

He tilted his chin up to meet Rilienus’ eyes, his own beginning to sting. “I know you wouldn’t ask. It’s why I’m offering myself to you, instead. I’ve seen you, gazed into the very depths of your being, seen the source of your power, felt the raging of your pain, breathed in the symphony of your affection. And you’ve tasted mine. You can try to convince me that I shouldn’t want you. You can try. Maker knows why you would, but you can. I believe you know enough of me to realize it won’t work. When have I  _ ever _ agreed to do something I didn’t expressly wish to? I told you, almost as soon as we met, that I want everything, but that wasn’t quite a complete statement. I don’t mean only to consume, Ril. I’d give you all that I am, all that I will be, in return. If you want me.”

“‘If you want me,’ he says.” He bent to take Dorian’s lips; warm and soft, tasting faintly of the sweetness of dates and the mint that had steamed from the tea, the lingering taste of himself and their mingled sweat. “I want you,” he murmured, kissing him. “I want you, all of you. Every glittering facet. Every ecstatic electric current. There are moments I fear that I’ll dull you, darken you.” He shook his head. “But you are impenetrable. I’m grateful for that, too.” He squeezed Dorian’s hand. “I’m grateful, Dorian. I’m in awe of you. And what I am, all of it, all that I will be, I’ll give to you. If you want me. Once you know.”

“Now,” Dorian said, his voice resolute, but as soft as the bed they shared. His throat joined in the chorus of burning, his eyes and chest already aching from the current of emotion surging through his veins. “I know now.”

“Dorian-“ He frowned. “Let me- Let me try to-“ He exhaled slowly. “You’ve seen… one of my sources of power. Do you understand? I’ve shown you the other, more than once, but it’s misunderstood.” So watchful. Brows gathered. The lights shifting through the gathered leaves of his eyes. “I told you once that the best way to hide the truth is among fictions.”

“What are you talking about,  _ mon rossignol _ ?” Dorian ran a hand across his cheek, brows knotting with concern.

Rilienus looked at him steadily, squeezing his hand. “Whole truths, with you, Dorian. Whole truths or nothing.” He glanced away then resolutely returned, “I’ve learned the forbidden. Taught myself- It’s not all demons and bargains. Hardly at all, really, and those who’ve made- I mean to say, it’s misunderstood. Terribly misunderstood. But you’ve a right to know. To know me. And now you do.”

“You’re a blood mage,” Dorian said softly, his hands still firmly anchored to Rilienus’ body. “This is what you’re telling me?”

“I’ve studied blood magic,” he enunciated, “and used it. It’s not what I am.”

“Every Magister in the Senate has studied blood magic, Rilienus. And those that haven’t don’t live for very long.” Dorian sighed, kissing his nose. “Father says that it’s the last resort of a weak mind, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t know a ritual or two. As do I. It is a tool, just like any other sort of magic. It is how you decide to use it that matters.” He pressed his thumb gently underneath Rilienus’ chin, his smile growing wistful. “Are you trying to turn me from you?”

“Hardly. I only- I know what your word means to you. I wanted you to understand- who I am, what I’ll do to be who I am meant to.” He pressed his chin to Dorian’s fingers. “Here I thought I was gaining an advantage and again I’m only struggling to keep up.”

“And what is it that you will do to reclaim what you can from what was taken from you?”

“I’ll destroy him.” He said it without malice. A statement. So long repeated to himself, no doubt, that he’d lost the heart to keep the heat in his hatred. “Him and whoever else had a hand in what happened to my parents, to me- I’ll end them or die trying.” Rilienus frowned, “I won’t be free until it’s done. Do you understand?”

“Justice. Dealt by your own hand.” Dorian’s voice was gravel, ground into the earth. “So that  _ we  _ can be free. I understand. I do. As much as I can, I do.” Dorian sighed, breathing against him. “I worry for you, though. I fear your anger will burn you from the inside out. Take you away from me. But--I do not think I can judge you for it. Had our roles been reversed, I am not sure my choice would be different than yours. Your options were taken from you when your parents were murdered. Your life was taken from you. Your uncle’s seat was bought with blood that was not his own. There is a price to be paid for such treachery.”

“There is. There is.” Rilienus nodded, tracing the shape of Dorian’s jaw. “Not my whole life, though. I’d thought- I’d thought he’d taken all of it. But here you are. Something to live for. I-” he swallowed. “I don’t- didn’t- entirely think that I could do it. That I could live through it. I couldn’t see past ending him. I can now. I can see light through the darkness. If I can reach it- Dorian, if I can reach it, I’ll share all that light with you for as long as you’ll have me. It’s only fair. I wouldn’t have seen it without you.”

“Don’t make me wait until then.” Dorian’s smile was wan and melancholy, but it still remained, tethered to his lips to keep it from being lost at sea. “Don’t wait to start living until he’s gone.” He took his hands away, slipping one of the rings onto the fourth finger of his right hand, before holding the second between his thumb and index finger. “Take it, if you still wish to,  _ amatus _ . It’s yours, as am I. As a reminder that vengeance need not be the only accomplishment of your life. You are more than what he wished to make you.”

He looked down at their hands, then slipped the ring that already rode that finger free and tucked the plain gold band into place. He smoothed his thumb over it, meeting Dorian’s gaze with his own. “I’ve never made a promise not marred by loss. Yours- You-“ He lifted Dorian’s hand, brushing his lips over the ring. “I’ll replace this someday, Dorian. When we’re free.” He kissed the length of Dorian’s finger. “A dragon, mayhap. Something with wings.”

“Poetic. And you know how I feel about poetry,” Dorian murmured, entwining their fingers and pushing him back onto the pillows, crawling atop him. He covered Rilienus’ shimmering skin with kisses, behind his ear and down his jaw, up his cheek and against his closed eyelids, along the swoop of his brows and down the line of his nose before finally meeting his lips and lingering there, full of joy and promise and hope for the future. Dorian could hear it in the thrum of their shared heartbeats, their synchronized breaths, as they grew more and more arrhythmic, a driving beat for a private tune, sung on rooftops at midnight and balconies at dawn and warded bedchambers in the lazy sunshine of midmorning. “Shall we push back our metaphysical discussion by another half hour, then?”

“Ah, well,” his lover sighed beneath him, arching into his touch. “If you insist,  _ mon aube _ . I suppose we shall.”


	25. Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays (*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!!   
> Warning: NSFW m/m, kink, bondage.

##  Rilienus

The days were too long. The nights too short. 

Rilienus moved through his classes like a ghost. The two days of rest following the practical finals and feast had been a much-needed gift. Hours of retreat and contemplation and love in the fragile shell of his room, broken only by the hours of prayer and meals. As new classes began and the fall gave way to winter, the rains began. The heat remained- a constant- now humid, wreathing the world in steam. The scent of the trees and the grasses and the winter flowers filled his senses and made him think of baths and lazy mornings and Dorian wrapped in sweat-soaked silk like a second skin… 

Days without him, without even the sight of him, were torturous. He could stand not seeing him- he believed he could. No, it was the possibility that - if he did… if he looked, if any tiny instinct in him gave them away, then he would lose him- lose him, perhaps forever. Lose the parts of himself that he’d tucked away inside of Dorian’s heart for safekeeping. Lose his life. Or risk Dorian’s by his actions. It terrified him - that potential loss - even as he gloried in the future he could see gleaming on the horizon. 

He couldn’t count how many times he touched the ring hidden amongst the others on his fingers. A talisman- unenchanted, unadorned, but the feel of the simple band grounded him when panic began to take hold. 

Panic. He knew the feeling with greater intimacy as the days turned to weeks. Somewhere, there was a spy watching Dorian, in addition to the Praeceptor and whichever of the prefects he’d invited to join him. Anyone. Any one of the hundred students. Possibly the staff, as well. Groundskeepers, cooks, Chantry attendants… Any pair of eyes might be traitorous, waiting for any sign of what Dorian was up to. 

He knew Dorian had taken to carrying the anchor stones for the portal with him now. They’d both spent days working on them, casting as many wards and enchantments as they could to mask the gems’ power, intention, and resonance… They didn’t want a repeat of having to race to retrieve them, no, but the idea that they were in Dorian’s correspondence pockets, trotting about campus, was almost as nerve-wracking. 

Every night, he waited; staring at his wall, listening for the subtle hum of the connection reactivating. Then waited another interminable series of seconds, minutes that felt like hours for Dorian to step into his room. The relief of seeing him, of touching him, only seemed to grow each time. 

“Stop moving,” he grimaced around teeth full of pins. The brocade was cerulean as the Nocen Sea, woven with silver that looked like dusk light on waves. He glanced up at Dorian and the blindfold he’d tightened around his head. “You aren’t peeking, are you?”

Dorian laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve asked me that every time I’ve stretched my legs. I didn’t realize this would take all evening. Almost done, mon rossignol?”

“If you’d stop moving, it would take less time.” Rilienus sat back on his heels and considered the fall of the cloth. How much did he really need to move in a day? He brushed the fall of the robe to the side, thinking. No. Movement. Movement was important. Even though it would ruin the line. He sighed and tucked the lower hem up another two inches on one side. Reconsidered. He stroked the front of Dorian’s ankle. “You really aren’t peeking?”

“I gave my word, did I not? Trying to follow your instructions… I miss seeing your face.”

Rilienus smiled, shaking his head slightly, returning to the robe. He evened out the edges, letting the back slope gently towards Dorian’s heels, then rose and circled him. It didn’t really matter what he put on him, he mused; Dorian was art, regardless. He tucked up the shoulders another pinch. Lengthened the hem in the arms. Brushed his fingers under Dorian’s palms. “Take my hands. See how it feels. Mind the step from the stool.” 

Dorian took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He stepped gingerly, trying not to trip as he moved from his perch. “I feel I’m drowning in fabric. Did you put that entire bolt of cloth to use?”

“No. I saved some to pet.” He lifted Dorian’s arms, eying the movement of the shoulders. “Is the collar bunching? Your neck is so thick.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment—“ Dorian squeezed his hand. “It could be loosened a bit, though, yes.”

“It doesn’t look it out of robes,” he murmured, stepping onto the stool to unpin and soften the folds of the collar, puffing them again with a little more space. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dorian smiled warmly. “How do I look? Since you won’t permit me to see for myself.”

“I want it to be perfect before you do.” Rilienus stroked his palms down the fox fur collar and slipped back around him. “You’re radiant. You’re always radiant. Arms up, down, sides. How are the shoulders?”

Dorian lifted his arms like a bird and clasped his hands above his head. He let them fall again slowly, twisting his shoulders in the garment. “Are you going to make a comment on the size of my shoulders as well?”

“I’m looking forward to baring them and gnawing on them later. Does that satisfy?”

Dorian chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “You and your gnawing. You know, I’ve heard that deficiencies in certain types of food in your diet can cause such afflictions. Perhaps you need to see a healer about that.”

“You’re the one who has a penchant for teeth. Would you, please, answer my question now? Do you have room? It needs to sit right, but I want for you to be able to cast.”

“I can move freely, amatus. It seems you should’ve become familiar with the way fabric sits on my shoulders now, after seaming and unseaming my robes again and again. My uniforms fit better than ever.”

“Good.” Rilienus walked around him, examining the fall of the cloth down his back. “And it’s short enough for you to run? Oh, I suppose you shouldn’t.” He frowned around the room. “I suppose… I suppose you can take the blindfold off. So you don’t fall over. I could make it shorter, still, if you need-“ He backed up to perch on the desk, winding his hands together. “Don’t- If you hate it, just don’t tell me.”

Dorian tugged at the knot at the back of his head, loosening the red silk blindfold and letting it drop. He rolled his neck, stretching, long limbs bending, a tiger rising from slumber, and strode across the room towards the full length mirror. Lips curled into a lazy smile as he curled the corners of his mustache. “Come here, then, and admire your work with me.”

He shoved off the desk, pacing over to Dorian to straighten the collar. “You don’t have to like it. I can repurpose it still. It was an image in my head was all.” He backed off, peering at Dorian in the mirror, winding his rings one by one. 

“Stop slinking away.” Dorian laughed, extending a hand. “I’m not the one with a biting problem. Come closer.”

“You asked me to-“ Rilienus huffed, taking his hand and drawing closer. “I wanted it to drag behind you, but that’s impractical.”

Dorian pulled him the rest of the way, closing the distance between them and maneuvering around the folds to draw Rilienus in for a kiss, tender and smiling against his lips, sunshine trapped in skin. “I love it,” he murmured, taking both of Rilienus’ hands. “I’m delighted. I look like a prince about to sit for a portrait, as I very well should.” Dorian kissed him again, lips quick and light against his forehead. “Thank you.”

“You  _ are _ a prince.” Rilienus ducked his head, his pulse thundering from the praise. “You really like it?” He smoothed his palms down the brocade. “You don’t even know what it does.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever lied to you, and could you ever see me wearing something—outside of these uniforms—I thought was dreadful?” 

“You don’t have to wear it. You can't, in fact, so the point is moot. But I appreciate the compliment in any case.”

Dorian turned to him, tilting his head. “What did you mean ‘what it does’?”

Rilienus bit his lip, slipping behind him and turning his chin to the mirror. “Watch.” He stroked his thumbs down the collar and the brocade began to ripple with an unseen wind, cool air flowing through the sleeves and collar to make them puff and fill. “Up,” he whispered, lifting Dorian’s elbows. “Simple levitation spell. More effect than anything practical. And I’ve laid in correspondence pockets into the sleeves as well as the interior.” He smoothed his hand down one of the puffed sleeves. “And this.” He drew one of the pins from the knob at his wrist prodding the cloth gently. “Nothing, but when you activate this-“ He brushed his fingers over a bronze button at the front of the robe and pressed the needle to the cloth again- the metal bent aside as though it had touched plate. “I embedded the kinetic barrier we were working on into the weave. It doesn’t last very long, but it can rebuild its charge through movement rather than mana, so that’s something. Plus, it’s soft.” He rested his chin on Dorian’s shoulder, petting the long, fluffed collar with its fox fur. “It looks good on you. I think.” 

Dorian’s eyes widened with each display, staring at himself and the outfit Rilienus had crafted for him in the long mirror. He turned his head to press his lips to Rilienus’ cheek, his eyes sparkling like the silver woven into the brocade. “It’s a masterpiece, you’re an artist, and I get the pleasure of being your canvas. You spoil me,  _ amatus _ .” Dorian said, tilting his chin to new Rilienus’ lips, his arms wrapping around his waist. “And I’ve given you no gifts in return!”

Rilienus tucked his arms around Dorian’s waist inside the robe. Dorian’s skin was velvet beneath his fingertips, while the robe’s simple interior of lush purple and deep orange silk like a sunset kissed the backs of his hands. “You are my gift- and my muse.” He was. Maker’s tears, he was. A prince. A dragon. A home. His heart swelled with pride and joy as he studied Dorian, stroking his back. “You’ve given me beautiful brocades to work with. And life to look forward to. And jewelry; you know I adore my newest trinket. You’re practically drowning me in gifts, one after another. Not to mention, I get to see you in this. Resplendent, as you should be.” He smiled slowly, “Of course, if you insist, you can continue to spoil me. I wouldn’t dare to deny you your pleasures, Dominus.”

“My pleasures, always so concerned with my pleasures. I’m starting to think they might possibly overlap with your pleasures.” 

“Possible. Very possible.”

Dorian chuckled, filling him with sunlight and song. “Do you intend to make one for yourself, to match? It would only be fair, though I’m almost certain the sight of us together would burn all of Minrathous down in our glory.”

“If that is the case,” he murmured, tracing the lines of Dorian’s muscles one by one, “then I suppose I must.” Amber liquid and lazy melting moments and bright mornings and gentle vibrations of strings coming into tune… Rilienus kissed him because he couldn’t help it, because the notion of leaving that smile alone was too great for his paltry willpower. He tasted of dates and salted plums and the fresh apricots Rilienus had tucked into his pocket that morning- the ones he’d saved, bruising against enchanted gems, until they could share them that evening. Apricots and brocade in the dark after prayers. Was it so much to wish for? So terrible that they had to hold their breaths for hours at a time for the chance at it? He sighed, leaning back to study Dorian’s warm, beautiful eyes, tracing the slight shadows beneath them with his thumb. “Is there any news?” he asked softly. He hadn’t meant to ask. He’d let it go for days now, trying to focus on the moments they had and on their future. Sick of not knowing, not being able to parse where their new risks grew nor intercede on Dorian’s behalf where he knew they already twined. 

“Bits and pieces,” his lover sighed, tensing visibly at the question. Dorian slipped the cloak off of his shoulders and back onto the mannequin Rilienus had conjured. “Sevine’s been smug since the day of the feast and I’ve had to show her some of the spells I’ve been working on during my dueling sessions with Kailish. I don’t think—“ His brow knotted, lines of worry becoming more commonplace on Dorian’s forehead as he learned that his every move was being scrutinized. “I don’t think she’ll be a problem. Watch her, in staves, for me. I have a suspicion, but I don’t wish to bias you…”

“Bias me? Against what?” Rilienus folded his arms in front of his chest, watching him. “You think it’s her? If it is- How do we figure out what she knows? If she knew about us, wouldn’t she have said something to your parents by now? It’s been weeks with no sign-“ 

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ , no. I’ll just tell you, to save you from launching an investigation.” Dorian chuckled, taking a place on Rilienus’ bed, laying on his side in his smalls like an invitation. 

Rilienus followed him, helpless to resist, perching on the edge of the bed. “Laughter is a good sign, I hope?”

Dorian wrapped an arm around him, tugging him fully onto the bed, with more of that laughter, until Rilienus settled facing him. “Yes, usually. Or perhaps I’ve become villainous.” Long fingers running down his side, lingering at his hip bones. “You know the dark haired girl in that class? Cheekbones that could etch glass? A spare smile? Sidra, but I know you don’t always go for names.”

“Vaguely,” he frowned, accepting the observation. “You think it’s her?”

“Maker’s breath, I’d be shocked if it were either of them.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, love, she had a mark on her neck, Sev and I saw it when she was taking a practice staff, and I swear by Andraste’s light, I’d never seen such horror in Illenus’ eyes. They’re seeing each other. I’d bet a thousand aurens.”

“Because of an expression over a bruise?”

“A lover’s bite,” Dorian corrected, smiling. “And she’d been bringing her up in conversation with increasing frequency for weeks. Sidra this, Sidra that, did you see her toss so-and-so to the ground? Sevine’s clever, but apparently love makes fools of us all, hmm?”

Rilienus tried to follow him into his smile. Tried and failed. “And you believe this makes either of them less likely to turn us over to the Praeceptor, or less likely to be the spy your family contracted…. why, exactly?”

“Because they’re--” Dorian sighed, letting his head fall sideways onto the pillow, a defeated expression on his face. “You don’t think it matters, do you? That they’re like us?”

“If anything, it gives them more reasons to seek ways to shore themselves against attacks, seek favors and protection.” Rilienus traced his cheek, “Unless they know that we know. If we have some evidence, some means of mutually assured destruction. That might be useful.”

Dorian caught his hand in his own, nuzzling his cheek into it before entwining their fingers together, touching the flawless ring of pure gold that sat conspicuously on Rilienus’ finger. “I trust her. Mutually assured destruction or no. I can’t say--” Starlight woven in his eyes, a glint of hopefulness. Trust. Hope. Caring. Love. So many words Rilienus had forgotten the meaning of before Dorian relit the candle in his chest and nurtured the flame until it blazed and burnt, as brightly as any celestial body. “I just trust her. Besides, it’s unlikely Mother would’ve chosen her, or Lethina. You mentioned that she and my father discussed them. It’d be someone else, to judge whether they should risk breaking off my engagement to Herathinos for another betrothal.”

“That makes one less person they might report to,” he sighed. Not even that, if he was honest with himself. Aquinea Pavus seemed canny enough to use a potential lover as a spy, if only to assess their trustworthiness to her cause as opposed to her son’s. He brushed a curl back from Dorian’s forehead. Perhaps he didn’t need the assurances of information as a ward, but Rilienus did. Trust, if he was to keep that tender ember alight in himself, had to be earned or at the very least gifted carefully; Sevine Illenus was an unknown so far as he was concerned. And Dorian wanted to trust so badly, wanted to find some safety among the wreckage… He kissed his lips, savoring him, sighing. “Who then?” he asked quietly. 

“I can’t imagine who it could be--anyone. Probably someone she saw me speaking to? But…” Dorian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I spoke to half of our classmates that evening. Did she say anything else? Do anything else?”

“I’ve told you everything that I saw and heard from that night. I may well have missed something. If I have- I pray that I haven’t. Not that what I gleaned has been of much value.”

“My mother…” Dorian smiled crookedly, laughing lightly. “Would it offend you to know that you remind me a bit of her? Crafty, lingering in the shadows, eliminating threats to our family from afar. She’d probably chide me for being too naive as well, if she were here.”

Linger? Did he linger in shadows? He supposed he did. “Did I chide you?”

“Silently,” Dorian murmured. “Your expression. Did you not?”

“I don’t mean to.” He pressed his lips together, leaning back to search those too clever eyes. “I know you wish to believe the best of those you admire. I know you’re… friends… with the girl. I…” He frowned. “I can see how you might think that a shared… position… might- It’s- I value your eyes, Dorian. I value your heart. I’m happy to linger in the shadows protecting you if it means that your heart remains unbroken.”

Dorian sighed, tucking himself under Rilienus’ arms, nestling against him. “I won’t tell her anything. I haven’t told her anything. I don’t want to put my confidence to the test, not with all that it could cost.” His fingers wrapped around the curve of his waist, those Blighted lines returning to his forehead. “If you were my mother, who would you have chosen as your spy?”

“Erend.” The name slipped off his tongue before he had a chance to think. Odd, as he’d hardly thought of the boy since the day of the feast. But of course he was the logical choice. Close. And the way he’d reacted when Lethina had kissed Dorian- and later on the field. Something to prove. Something to prove meant something to manipulate. Child’s play, really. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Because the boy seemed so pitiful and furious. Because he wasn’t a threat. Of course, that was exactly what she’d been looking for. Someone Dorian would let his guard down around. “Erend,” he repeated, sharpening on the idea. 

“Erend? Really? But he’s my--” Dorian’s eyes widened, the muscles in his neck tensing as the thought apparently took root. “She would’ve chosen one of my friends.  _ Fasta vass _ . It could be. I hadn’t even thought of him, it would’ve been so obvious a choice-- He was so angry. Sevine said that she hardly needed to talk to him, he just--fuck--he’s been acting like nothing happened in the stands ever since that evening. How can we… How will we know for certain?”

“She has to be communicating with him somehow- if it’s him,” he added, frowning. “If I were her, I would have chosen him that day. Weak-minded, follower, easily swayed, frustrated-“ He stopped, cursing himself as those Blighted worries crossed Dorian’s forehead. “Don’t-“ he kissed his brow. “It’s alright. This is good. I can look into this and take care of it. There’s only so many ways to communicate through the wards of this tower. I’ll sort it out.”

“ _ Amatus _ , please don’t hurt him.” Dorian whispered low, not meeting his eyes. “Whatever my mother has him doing, he is—was—my friend. And he’s—he’s just—“

The request stung. ‘Don’t hurt him.’ Not that he wouldn’t, not that he’d try to restrain himself if it were necessary to protect them, but it hadn’t been his first thought. Rilienus gathered him close, softening his voice. “I’ll find out if I’m right. We’ll go from there. If- If I am- What could he know? He thinks I’m protecting you. Or thought so. He didn’t seem to know why. If we can discern… There are ways we can use this to our advantage.”

“Thank you,” Dorian breathed, his body relaxing with the words. “I love you. We can get through this. I know it. I can feel it. We have to.”

“We will.” He smoothed his hand down Dorian’s back. “We will.” One way or another. He kissed the top of Dorian’s head. “Has he asked you anything? Or tried to turn the conversation towards any subject in particular?”

“He… I don’t--” Dorian raised an eyebrow, considering. “I suppose he’s been interested in what I’ve been up to. And I’ve been seeing him more often, in places I didn’t usually see him before. But he hasn’t asked about you.”

“There, you see. Either he’s more clever than I think or he doesn’t have more than a passing suspicion. I can sort through…” He smiled slightly. “I can skulk, as you accuse me of doing anyway.” He kissed his cheek. “I won’t remove any of his limbs unless I have to. Or if I get hungry.”

“Communication though--yes…” Dorian thumbed his bottom lip. “Any ideas?”

“The protections throughout the tower prevent most means. There’s a place in the Praeceptor’s office where there’s a crack in the wards. In the Praetor’s desk, as well, although from what I’ve managed to pluck apart, that’s a one way channel and it goes out. The Chanters come in and out all the time and they’ve been found to be carrying items for students. Or from them.” He hummed, kissing the pad of Dorian’s thumb. “Ears. Ears. A sending stone? Whispers are better- quicker and less likely to be intercepted than letters or notes. But she would need something… powerful to get through the wards. Or know some way of bypassing them. Erend wouldn’t be any help with that.”

“Crystals,” Dorian murmured, a small smile drawing his lips. “Mother’s specialty is crystals. She was working on a set of sending crystals when I was home last. I wonder if she has a prototype ready.”

“Do you have anything she’s bespelled for you? I can test the resonance, look for similarities if I find anything-“ He nipped Dorian’s thumb, “Can you keep him with you between dinner and prayers tomorrow? I’ll search his things. See what I can find.”

“I believe I can keep him occupied, yes.” Dorian turned a bejeweled ring on his finger and mumbled a word, a slice appearing in the air, opening the pocket that contained Dorian’s stock of alcohol. He waved a hand and an elaborately decorated goblet flew from the hidden space and Dorian grabbed it out of the air. Silver and shimmering with opals. “Put it to your lips, amatus,” Dorian said, smiling slightly. “A gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday.”

Rilienus settled in beneath him, tilting the goblet, letting his mana lick at the edges of the enchantment. Similar to Dorian’s techniques, more subtle. “Summoning,” he murmured, there was a tender care in the weave of the spell- the summoning of light sparkling wine was in the opals, yes, but there was a thread circling the inside of the goblet, too. Protection against several poisons and… “Stripweed?” he asked. “Why would she think you’d drink tea from this?”

Dorian flushed slightly, frowning. “I’m--it makes me break out in rashes and once, when I was young, our new chef added some to my salad and my throat almost closed. Mother had to put me to sleep to heal me, I was shaking so badly.”

He tightened the strands of the spell as Dorian spoke. “You should drink from this more often.”

“You’re acting like a mother hen, again,  _ mon rossignol _ .” 

“Kindly cease the comparisons to your mother,  _ mon aube _ . It’s off-putting.”

Dorian smirked, pressing a kiss to his nose. “It would be much easier if you weren’t acting just like her. But as you wish,  _ amatus _ .”

Rilienus sniffed. “I hardly- You’re- Just stop.” He pressed the goblet back to Dorian’s hand. “And I’ve seen what I need to. If you want to waste a perfectly good enchantment, that’s your choice.”

“It’s sweet, how protective you are of me,” Dorian chuckled, running a hand along his cheek. “You must be quite fond. I’ll use it when I’m out of here, if it’d please you. I don’t want to raise any eyebrows drinking from an enchanted, bejeweled goblet.”

“You could have told me about the stripweed,” he muttered. “It has several medicinal properties. I could have hurt you.”

Dorian coughed, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, yes, Lady Aquinea.”

He snorted, shoving Dorian off of him and following to pin his arms above his head among the pillows. “I said enough of that. I meant it.” 

“Mmm, enough of what?” Dorian arched his neck to kiss him, his tongue lingering against his bottom lip. “I’ve already forgotten what we were speaking of.”

“Better.” Rilienus nuzzled his nose, sighing. “We have each other and we’re going to be fine. I can see… oh, several ways to turn this to our advantage if I’m correct.” He licked Dorian’s lower lip. “Action,  _ finally _ , Dorian,” he whispered, kissing a path to his jaw. “You jewel among men.”

“You seem happier than you have in days, Ril,” Dorian said, struggling playfully weakly against his arms. “More hopeful. It’s heartening.”

“I’m going to win. I’m going to get us out of this. I’m going to keep us safe. I’m going to keep you.” He raked his teeth down the side of Dorian’s neck. “Mine. My dawn.” He tasted like sweat and fresh cloth and anise and cardamom- edible and beautiful and perfect. Edible. He licked the flesh he’d bitten, smiling as Dorian arched beneath him. “We cannot be stopped, you and I. We are invincible.” 

“As long as I stay away from stripweed, yes?” Dorian gave him a coy smile. “I believe you. We will. We’ll get through this. And everything else the world throws at us.”

Rilienus sighed low, nodding, rubbing his lips across his skin. “Everything and anything.” He nuzzled his cheek against Dorian’s shoulder, peering up at him. “Did you need to study tonight?”

“I’m a bit fuzzy on my anatomy lessons, now that you mention it,” Dorian said, nipping at his chin. “Perhaps you could give me a practical demonstration?”

Rilienus smiled slowly. “Where should I begin?” he asked softly. “Here, at the deltoid? I do enjoy your deltoids. And your biceps.” He flexed his fingers at Dorian’s wrists, “Where in particular did you need… firming up?”

“What are the names of the three bones in my ears, again?” Dorian chuckled, kissing his cheek. “I always forget the auditory system.”

“That explains a great deal.” 

“What is that supposed to mean,  _ amatus _ , hmm?” Dorian leaned up to nibble his earlobe. “What are they then?”

Rilienus squinted at him. “Let’s see if I recall my studies correctly,” he hummed against the side of Dorian’s head. “I believe that’s… Incubus... Maleficar… and… ah, there’s a third. Stamen. Still-want-you. Hmm… Starts with an ‘s’.”

“Malleus, incus, and stapes?” Dorian asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should be the one tutoring you.”

“You’re certain it’s not maleficar and incubus?” He lifted a brow as he straddled Dorian, nudging his wrists higher so that they touched the bedframe. “I feel very confident about those.”

“You’re a maleficar incubus,” Dorian laughed, twisting against him. “What about the bones in my wrists?”

“I promise you,” he murmured, licking Dorian’s earlobe, “that I will be very gentle with your lunate, and your scaphoid-” he whistled low, calling a strip of cut brocade from across the room to wrap around his wrists. “-and your trapezium, and your pisiform, and your triquetrum.” He leaned back to hover a breath from Dorian’s lips, watching his eyes. “Too tight? I wouldn’t want to crush your capitate or your hamate.”

“Tighter,” Dorian whispered, his eyes sparkling like silverite. “I love you.”

The yearning in his voice sent a pulse of warmth down Rilienus’ spine. He exhaled a lower tone and watched the cloth tighten until he could see Dorian’s skin begin to pull. Stunning. He was stunning. His wrists caught above his head, the lines of his arms on display in the magelight. He hummed that light lower, tracing the curve of Dorian’s brow in the soft glimmer. Never in the dark. Never again. But he was molten caramel in dim light, fresh and dewed with the humidity. He met Dorian’s eyes, touching his cheek lightly. “You’re certain?”

“That I love you?” Dorian lifted his chin to meet Rilienus’ lips, tasting the thin sheen of sweat. “More than anything.”

“Of everything in this world, that might be the one thing I don’t doubt, Dorian.” He smiled, brushing his lips across the curve of his mustache. “And the one thing I wouldn’t question. But one hopes that you would say something if you were uncomfortable or becoming so?” He snapped his fingers and the ends of the cloth leapt to wind around the headboard’s posts. “Speaking your mind has never been a failing of yours.” He sat back, rolling his hips down and back to feel Dorian tightening against him as he trailed his fingers down his chest, admiring the way he arched and tensed beneath him. “You are quite simply the most glorious thing I have ever seen. Living or art. Sunsets and architecture.”

“And you’re starlight and painted murals and—yes, I’d tell you if I started to become uncomfortable.” Dorian smiled wryly, winking at him under heavily lidded eyes. “You don’t mind this?”

Rilienus lifted his brows, peeling his gaze upwards. “Hm? What?”

“I’m not displeased, just surprised, is all.” Dorian tilted his head and wiggled his fingers. “This.”

“I’m not hurting you.” He frowned, brushing his fingers over Dorian’s skin. “I’m fine, so long as I’m not hurting you.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind wrapping that blindfold around me again?” Dorian lifted up, catching his lips and biting lightly. “I can be very, very well behaved.”

“I thought you missed seeing my face.” He nudged Dorian gently back to the bed and followed him, teething the spot he’d bitten. “Already tired of me?”

“Never,” Dorian murmured, chuckling. “There’s just a special sort of allure in not being able to watch what you’ll do next. To be surprised by your every move, try to guess from the shifting of your hips and the twists of your muscles…”

“Alright,” Rilienus chuckled quietly, brushing his fingers over Dorian’s lips. “Alright. Every time I catch up, I fall behind.” He held his hand out to the side and whistled the scrap of deep orange silk to his fingers. “Lift your head.” He stroked Dorian’s cheeks as he settled the fabric into place and tied it to the side of his head. “You want to guess. Of course you do.” He splayed his palm on Dorian’s stomach and hummed quietly, beckoning more scraps of cloth across the room to wind around the footboard and fall to either side of Dorian’s ankles, not quite touching him, then whistled his harp to play gently. “Go on, then. Guess to your heart’s content.”

“Hmm… You’re going to make love to me.” Dorian laughed, reaching up to kiss him but missing his lips. “Do I win?”

“A blindfold seems like quite a lot of effort for that guess.” He brushed his fingers down Dorian’s sides, shifting forward to untie the knot of his smalls as he hummed the cloth at the foot of the bed to slither around his ankles and bind. “And it’s wrong, to boot. Try again. I believe in you.” He slid the slip of cloth free from Dorian’s hips and slipped off the bed to disrobe, watching him test the binding. Why in the Void and darkness hadn’t he done this before? What a pretty piece of art Dorian could be, lingering, caught on his bed like a wasp caught in a web. With a quickly stiffening stinger, too. He grinned despite himself, despite everything, and wasn’t that part of Dorian’s magic. The power to make the world melt away in the face of him. Just him. He breathed deep. “You like being watched,  _ mon aube _ . The way your body changes- the way you rise and tense- It’s lovely.”

“I do. I can imagine your face right now, staring down the line of my body—“ Dorian frowned slightly. “What do you mean you don’t intend to make love to me? I’m right here, at your fingertips, waiting for you.”

“I see that. It’s delicious. Thank you.” He peeled his robe off, laying it across his desk quietly, watching him. 

“Where did you go,  _ mon rossignol _ ?” Dorian strained against the silk, but it didn’t give. “I’m growing lonely here, by myself.”

“Are you?” Rilienus asked quietly. “By yourself?” He flexed his fingers, sending light featherwinds skimming over Dorian’s skin as he untied his trousers and slid them quietly off. “You seem in decent company.”

“Certainly you don’t mean to pleasure me with magic alone, do you?” He could see the grin curling his lips from across the room. “Or…?”

“I? I could never hope to accomplish such a feat. No, my love. Surprise is what you asked for and surprise you shall get.” He leaned back against the desk, running his thumb down his length and summoned his mana with a whistle. Slowly, he drew the air through his fingertips, forming it and shaping it while he watched Dorian shift in response to the gentle wind. “You don’t mind the company you have, do you?” he asked softly, whisking his creation across the room to brush past Dorian’s cheek. The barest of touches. A cool, firm condensation of air. His lips curved as he flicked his middle finger towards the transparent phallus, dabbing it with the scent of sweat and a light coating of salt and honey. “You did say you would behave. I think a polite greeting might be welcome at this moment.”

“What are you—“

He nudged the tip of it towards Dorian’s mouth, caressing his lower lip. “A greeting. A salutation. You’ve an admirer.”

Dorian laughed, shaking his head, clearly confused, amused, and quite possibly bemused. “Very friendly. I typically expect an offering of some sort before I become so intimately acquainted with my admirers.”

“Do you?” Rilienus nibbled on the back of his thumb, drawing his creation away to float above Dorian’s fingertips, dabbing at them one by one. “What sort of offering?” 

“A serviette full of strawberries, for example.” Dorian said, smiling. “Though from the feel of it, that might not be the most relevant request.”

“No?” He lingered over the curve of his smile. “Wine, perhaps?”

“Always appreciated.”

“As you will.” He gathered a glass and poured a measure of the rosé from the bottle they’d been draining since the night before, carrying it over to the bed. “Are we having a nice time?” he asked, cupping Dorian’s neck to help him lean up enough to sip. 

“Very,” Dorian licked his lips and tried to catch Rilienus’ hands with his teeth, but missed horribly. “You’re a tease.”

“I’m no such thing. I’ve just given you wine.” He exhaled and sent his breath scurrying down Dorian’s flesh. “So these two friends of mine. Are they covered by the one sip, or have you need of another?”

“Two?  _ Vishante kaffas _ , you just intend to watch while I do all of the work, do you?”

“Call it a demonstration to accompany a prior lecture.”

“Mmm,” Dorian sighed, rocking his hips. “You’re quite certain you don’t wish to join?”

“I’m quite certain I will. After I’ve satisfied a curiosity. It’s amethyst. You know I can’t deny amethyst.”

“What are you on about, now?”

“The color of my curiosity.” Rilienus stroked his hair back from his face. “Two then?”

“Why stop at two?”

“Where in the Void would any more go, my love?”

“And I thought you were creative.” Dorian’s grin was sly, his teeth showing ever so slightly. “You’ve hands, don’t you? I know you do. You so love to touch me with them.”

Rilienus eased his head back to the pillows and stepped away again, sipping from the glass as he eyed him speculatively. “And?”

“ _ Amatus… _ Use that clever mind of yours. Touch me.”

“What?” Rilienus half-laughed, “What? With- with those? How many of them do you want?” He set the glass to the side, stretching his fingers. “I’ll give you the two to start with, greedy-guts.  _ Vishante kaffas _ , Maker have mercy- If you want more, you shall have more. Does that seem fair?” 

Dorian pursed his lips, sighing heavily, rolling his head against the pillows. “If that’s all you wish to conjure…”

“ _ Festis bei umo canavarum _ -” Rilienus huffed, stalking over to the bed and climbing atop him, straddling his hips. “You are insatiable, are you? You want to dry me out? What would you have of me, my love? My mana is yours to command.”

“Fine,” he laughed, rocking his hips underneath Rilienus. “Start with two. And when you tire of watching—“

Rilienus shifted back, guiding Dorian to sit along his cleft. “Yes?”

“There we are. Yes.” Dorian’s eyebrows raised from underneath the silk. “Just so.”

He grinned, bending to nibble at Dorian’s chest. “You just didn’t like me being on the other side of the room.”

“Ah! He’s caught me.” The corners of his lips curved in a wicked smile. “You can be, as long as you promise not to be gone for long. Or you could stay. I’d like that too.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he murmured, stroking his hands over Dorian’s skin. “And you’re very comfortable.” He whistled low and brought one of his creations over to rest in his hands, guiding it across Dorian’s skin. “I  _ am _ curious. You don’t mind?”

“Mind? Not at all.” Dorian leaned up towards him, as much as the bindings would allow. “I’m sure you’ll see how much I don’t mind very shortly.”

Rilienus sighed, guiding the phallus that was dancing between Dorian’s fingertips back to his lips. “Show me,” he asked, tracing his ribs with the second, drizzling it with slick as he did. 

Dorian parted his lips, an invitation, moaning low as the conjuring slipped between them. He twitched at the touches on his torso, rolling his hips against Rilienus again as his mouth opened wider. Every line of muscle contrasted sharply with the sheets, so apparent that they looked like they’d been etched into marble, a figure of masculine beauty. Dorian hummed deeply, running his tongue along the base of the thickened air, even more vocal than usual. Putting on a show, then. A performance. The demonstration he’d requested.

Fascinating, watching him move, watching the curl of his tongue, the stretch of his lips. Rilienus exhaled an unsteady breath, dragging the second conjuring across Dorian’s skin. “Beautiful. Delectably beautiful. I’m a little jealous,” he licked some of the spilled slick from Dorian’s abdomen, painting a dewy streak along the inside of his thigh and guiding it to nudge between his legs. “The taste is to your liking?”

Dorian raised a single eyebrow, his mouth full, leaving him unable to speak. He twisted his legs inward, as much as he could manage, catching Rilienus between them. There were laugh lines around his eyes as he swallowed deeper, loosening his jaw to accept the conjuring.

Rilienus chuckled low, smoothing his palm against the inside of Dorian’s thigh and squeezing. His conjuring didn’t need his hand to guide it; he whistled softly, setting a gentle tempo for it to begin its lazy exploration, turning and kissing Dorian’s entrance with cool slick. He felt the tension in Dorian’s thigh, the flex of him against his skin. “You should see yourself. Your lips. Your hips. The fit of your phallus against me- I can feel you and think of how you’ll feel inside of me.” He rolled his hips, leaning up to kiss the corner of Dorian’s mouth. “I love you. I love watching you- Watching you enjoy yourself. I want you to feel as beautiful as you are.”

Dorian turned his cheek to nuzzle against Rilienus’ lips, giving him another low, heady, invigorating moan at the words. He could feel the muscles of Dorian’s abdomen and groin tighten and relax underneath him to match the pace of his instruments. An unearthly gasp as the one between his legs entered him, his hips raising, hands curling in the restraints. His lips were wet with sweat and spit and the thick sweetness of honey. Rilienus breathed in oakmoss, amber, rosé, and his own scents on Dorian’s skin, salt and ink and old parchment. A quiet evening in a library, studying, sipping wine by the fire, before being distracted by a very different sort of flame. 

He brushed the sweat from Dorian’s brow, kissing and licking his lips. “It’s as though you’re meant to be filled, my love, like a chalice. You’re incredible.” Rilienus kissed his hollowed cheek, breathing in the scent of him. Dorian could get out, if he wanted to, he reminded himself. He could dispel any one or all of Rilienus’ conjurings and enchantments at a whim. He reached back to caress Dorian’s length and found him firm and dripping. Good, he sighed, nuzzling his lover’s ear as he stroked him, watching him. Sinews and sweat, the line of his body as he stretched between his bonds. The way his hips rolled beneath Rilienus as the conjuring ebbed deeper into him. 

Rilienus sat up, guiding Dorian to rest firmly against his ass so that he could feel each gasping roll and buck. “Maker’s tears,” he sighed, smoothing his palm over the planes of his torso, the bunched muscles in his arms. “Dorian,” he licked his lips, tasting honey, salt, and sweat. Wine and the hint of cardamom and- “I want to see your eyes. I want to watch you while you’re-“ he ran his hand up the center of Dorian’s chest, cupping his jaw gently, “Let me take off the blindfold so I can see you.”

All Dorian could do was nod, and by the Maker’s light, he did.

Grateful, Rilienus peeled the slip of cloth off the top of his head and tossed it to the side. There, those silvered eyes he loved to get lost in. He smiled, kissing Dorian’s brow and leaning back to search his gaze again. “I missed you.” He waved the conjuring back from his lips and massaged Dorian’s jaw gently. 

“See, I’m not the only one who withers away from lack of company.” Dorian lifted his chin to meet his lips, slick and warm and sweet. He gasped against Rilienus’ mouth, the sharp inhale sending shivers down his spine. “Have you grown tired—Ah!” Dorian nibbled at his upper lip, smiling as his eyes were forced shut. “Of watching yet,  _ amatus _ ?”

He laughed. Tire? Of watching him like this? He smoothed his fingers into Dorian’s hair. “Ah… no,” he smirked, kissing him gently. “I was thinking you might make a very pleasant installation. I could keep you like this… oh, ages. I’ll run out of mana before I tire of the sight.” He traced the shell of Dorian’s ear. “You’re well? Do you need anything?

“You,” he growled, his voice rugged with desire as his silver eyes clenched tightly shut. “I need to feel you all around me.” Dorian’s back arched, his wrists pulling against the silk holding him in place. “I need you—“

“Do you?” Rilienus kissed him, unable to stop the grin that spread across his lips. “That’s-“ he sighed, shifting back to rub Dorian’s cock against his entrance, “fortunate.” So hard, pulsing and thick and- He let his head fall back and hummed low as he reached for that place inside of him that could open and flare and bind them together. Felt his muscles melt, allowing him to sink down onto Dorian, taste the barest lick of his power and his lust and his love- He slapped his hand against the ward on the wall and shut himself off from that power, focusing on the feel of Dorian inside of him, his flesh and sweat and the visceral scent of him. “Love- Ah, I love you.”

Dorian opened his eyes, peering at him with liquid mercury, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as a smile curled the corners of his mustache. “I’m—“ Dorian licked his lips, eyelashes fluttering for a moment. “Starting to believe you when you say—“ A deep groan and he tilted his face to the side, burying it under his outstretched arm. “We’re invincible.” Silver eyes opening just in time to melt into quicksilver, into clouds. “I love you more than sunshine and fields of grass and the open sky, more than towers stretching above skylines, more than the sea and sand and scrub that spreads along the beaches of Qarinus, more than ancient books and candlelight and discoveries in the dark.”

Rilienus groaned, bracing against the wall and Dorian’s chest as he rode him. “Yes-“ he shuddered, struggling to keep his eyes open so he could watch the expressions slip across his lover’s features like a passing storm. He exhaled carefully, willing the conjuring to increase its pace… and smirked as even the quicksilver went molten. “Yes- invincible- you and I- anything- we can do anything- everything-“ 

“Kiss me,” Dorian murmured, his eyes open just a slit. “I want to taste you, I want you to pour through my body like champagne until I—until—“

Nothing in the world could compare to this- Sensation rampant through his body, electrifying his flesh, pressure driving him onward- The sound of Dorian’s voice, pleading and commanding at the same time, lilac and deep oceans of wine. Rilienus swallowed, bowing to scrape his cheek across Dorian’s skin, gathering his scent like a cat, on his way to his lips- Old gods and new- Full and flushed, ripened like berries- He groaned, tasting them. “Yours,” he licked the sweat from Dorian’s skin, begging entry like a pilgrim until he was able to dive into the sweet welcome of his taste and his tongue and- “Yours. Yours always- Dorian-“ He could barely breathe, his lungs felt too full. His pulse beat so loudly it nearly drowned out the harp and- “Until my last breath, Dorian- Anything, I'll do anything for you, my love-“

A loud ripping sound as the bindings tore free and then Dorian’s arms were wrapped around him, his fingers tangling in his hair, raking his back as Dorian writhed underneath him. “Anything,” Dorian panted, his breaths like the silk he’d torn from the bedposts, the tatters trailing down Rilienus’ skin. “Just love me.” Dorian’s mouth on his neck, teeth nipping at the tender skin behind his ear. “Just love me, Rilienus.” His nose caressing the curve of Rilienus’ skull. “Love me, Ril. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I do,” he shuddered. “I do, I will, always, always,” he clasped Dorian tight, reveling in him. Maker, this man- this man that set his flesh afire and let him taste infinity and made him real and whole and filled- He kissed him because words weren’t enough, could never be clear or direct or specific enough to capture the well that Dorian filled him with. 

Rilienus could feel the tension building, radiating through every one of Dorian’s muscles underneath him. His lover cried out, Rilienus’ name echoing against the walls of the warded stone room as Dorian’s back and neck arched in synchrony. Rilienus kissed him hard, swallowing his moans, breathing them in like steam, rocking against Dorian’s spasming body.

Rilienus eased him back to the pillows, cradling his head in his hands. “Always,” he whispered, feeling Dorian soften inside of him. “Always,” he kissed his chin, feeling Dorian’s breath warm against him as his lips parted, panting. “Until the world is dust,  _ mon aube _ , I will love you. You couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“Stop you?” Dorian murmured, his eyelids heavy, leaving only a sliver of silver glimmering underneath. “I’d rather stop the turn of the seasons, the rising of the sun, the rushing of the tides. I’d sooner end the world itself and all of its infinite beauties before I’d even consider trying to keep you from loving me.”

Rilienus sighed, nuzzling into the hair above his ear, tasting his skin. “Smart man to know a wasted effort when he sees it.”


	26. Though the dull brain perplexes

##  Dorian

The dueling hall was devoid from its usual chatter, the other students having filed out after their last lesson of the day, to study, gossip, and run from the raindrops that fell heavily upon the grounds. Low magelight torches glimmered around the perimeter of the room, casting the dark woodwork in a gentle orange glow. The hall would’ve been dark even without the heavy crimson curtains being drawn, the humidity oppressive even with a breeze. Dorian wiped the sweat dripping lazily from his brow, his muscles taught, ready to-

_ There _ . Dorian prepared a counterspell as he heard the shifting hum of the resonance, dispelling the glyph before it could appear in the center of the room. Resonances and hums and patterns; Rilienus was starting to seep into his psyche, protection and premonition instead of raw power-

A sharp crack and he was sent flying across the floor.

“Kaffas!” Dorian shouted as he was thrown against a column, before being suspended in the air. A feint. Of course Kailish had thrown him with a bloody feint. “Two at once?”

His professor shrugged, smiling warmly, his long hair braided and tied in place at the crown of his head. Golden bands adorned with rubies glittered from each of his fingers, aureate against ochre, at odds with the simple green Order robes that draped off his shoulders. “I’m trying to teach you to defend yourself, not stroke your ego, Pavus. Now…” he peaked his fingers, passing his slender mahogany staff between his hands. “What was I trying to teach you, just then?”

“To show off,” Dorian muttered, rubbing the back of his head, where he’d collided with the stone. 

“Hmm?” Kailish chuckled, onyx eyes glinting with mirth. “Did you say something relevant?”

Any other professor and they’d have given him lines to write, at the least, sent him to the Praeceptor at the worst. 

“Nothing, Dominus,” he sighed, “you were teaching me to… not underestimate my opponents?”

“I  _ suppose _ that’s true,” Kailish nodded, lowering him to his feet again, “something else?”

“Not to rely on resonance to judge where spells might come from?” he offered, frowning. 

“Not to rely  _ solely  _ on resonance. And to not focus upon one spell so intently that you lose control of the field. You turned your back to me, because you were confident you could sense where my spells were coming from. You would’ve seen me cast that force spell had you been paying attention.” Kalish laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe we should go back to the blindfold. You’re not actually using your eyes anyway.”

“I don’t see how this exercise is that helpful; most people can’t cast that many glyphs at once.”

“But there are those who  _ can _ ,” Kailish frowned, shadows filling in his cheekbones in the dim light. “And you’re not always going to be fighting one-on-one. Your father is a magister and you’ll be one after him, if the fates are kind. Rarely do senators settle their conflicts honorably. I’d like for you not to be killed, when that happens.”

Dorian stared at the tiles, running his thumb along the line of his staff. “I’m not sure why what happens to me after I leave these walls should matter to you, professor.”

“You’re my student.”

“And I’ll only be your student for so long.”

Kailish raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. “I’ve heard of your previous endeavors. It’s not a simple thing to escape the Order of Argent. You’ll need a plan. Don’t wait until the last minute to sort it out, or you’ll wind up right back here, just like the rest of them.” He laughed, scrubbing a hand through his short beard. “Been some time since someone’s managed an escape. Twenty years, to be exact.”

An  _ escape _ . Rilienus had said—but of course they wouldn’t admit to a successful escape. The students might never know. But…

“How?” Dorian asked, blinking slowly, peering up at him.

“Walked through the front gate,” Kailish laughed, deep bells echoing through the silent hall. “If you can actually  _ focus  _ and manage a few successful bouts, perhaps I’ll be inclined to divulge more by the end of the semester.”

Dorian gripped his staff tightly. An escape. A way out of the walls, on his own terms. Freedom, flight, far from the Order’s stifling structures.

Discussions by candlelight. Gifts under the moon. Secrets and promises and plans whispered between warded walls. Rilienus arching under his fingers, pleading to be touched, begging to be taken. Kissing him, breathing him, knowing him, loving him, every sensation and emotion reciprocated and multiplied, filling each other until they burst.

What was freedom compared to being encircled by Ril’s arms, drifting off into the Fade with him every night, waking to his watchful eyes every morning? Were the walls so tall that they needed to be vaulted? He could see the sky here, taste the clouds, if he wished. He had his heart, beating, living in the stone that kept him tethered—

Rilienus would want him to devise a plan. Just in case. They thought they’d found the spy. Erend - Blighted, bloody Erend - who he’d trained to shield and had protected from Heritia. Countless afternoons studying and chatting, turned like—

“Why?” Dorian asked, suddenly suspicious. “Why would you tell me anything?”

“Because you might have a shot at making it,” Kailish smiled, twirling his staff, “and I wouldn’t mind having my afternoons back.”

“As you will, Dominus,” Dorian smiled slightly, “I’d hate to keep you from your… research?”

“Just so,” Kailish laughed, “to arms.”

—

“This had better be good, Pavus,” Sevine raised an eyebrow, keeping step with him across the cobblestone, Lethina close behind and Erend staying further back, haunting their steps like a shadow.

Dorian felt foolish to not have noticed before; he’d been quieter since the exams, shifting off to the side, always glancing over his shoulder. Perhaps it was just irritation over what happened with Lethina. Part of him hoped that Rilienus would search his rooms and find nothing. They’d be back at the beginning again, no leads as to his mother’s spy, but at least it would mean Erend hadn’t betrayed him over a kiss that he hadn’t wanted. 

Dorian slipped a hand inside a hidden pocket in his robe, pulling out a slim, elaborately decorated bottle filled with a dark brown liquid, holding it out for Sevine. “I believe I owed you some spirit wine,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m paying my first installment.”

“Put that thing away,” Erend hissed under his breath, “until we get out of the corridor.”

“I know a spot!” Lethina chirped merrily, slipping her arm through Dorian’s. He stiffened at the touch, frowning and unwound his arm to replace the bottle under his robes. 

She tightened her jaw but led their group through the halls, turning a corner, glancing around, and then pressed a heavy wooden door open. A storeroom, with barrels of salt and alchemical reagents, old textbooks, chairs and pews in need of repair. Dorian settled on one of the barrels and uncorked the bottle with a loud pop while Sevine warded the door.

“Alright, Dorian, let’s see what you’ve got there.” Sevine took the bottle from his outstretched hand, sniffing at the rim. “Spiced, could mean it’s cheap, and they covered up that fact with cinnamon and anise…” She tilted the bottle to her lips and shivered slightly as the liquor touched her tongue. “Ah, not bad. You realize my mother was sending me a  _ case _ , right?” 

“As I said,” Dorian shrugged, taking the bottle back and swigging from it. Cloves and cinnamon, heavy on his tongue, the taste lingering long after he swallowed and burning on the way down. “A down payment.”

“It’s a  _ sample _ ,” Sevine narrowed her eyes. “No one gets to drink from their own down payment.”

“But I’m a special case, am I not?”

She rolled her eyes with a laugh and held out her hand, “You're  _ something _ , I’ll give you that.”

“Are we to sit and watch?” Lethina asked, perching on a box at Dorian’s side. “Or do we all get a taste?”

“We shouldn’t have it at all.” Erend wound his hands together. “What if we get caught?”

“Fire lashes, certainly. Or the lightning rod,” Dorian grinned. “Or was it the fire rod and lightning lashes?”

“Does it make a difference?” Erend asked, shuddering. “They all burn.”

“Don’t be so scared of everything, Erend.” Lethina leaned to Dorian’s leg, peering up at him, “Are we sharing? Or not? It's only polite, as I provided the retreat.”

“It’s your spirit wine now,” Dorian raised a brow at Sevine. “Do you think we should be bad influences upon the underclassmen?”

She waved a hand dismissively and Dorian passed Lethina the bottle. “I believe, as I imagine they say in Rivain, that ship has sailed. You’re a poison, Pavus, corrupting sweet, innocent, young minds just by sitting in the same room. Look at these two! They were once upstanding citizens. Now?” She laughed, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “Delinquents.”

Erend widened his eyes. “We’re not delinquents!”

Lethina sniffed, “Speak for yourself.”

“Just a bit of fun,” Dorian smiled sweetly. “You needn’t indulge if you don’t wish, Erend.”

“Maker’s tears, I was just  _ teasing _ ,” Sevine squinted at Erend. “What’s up with you?”

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” Erend shivered. “I keep thinking about Phlenex- about what they did to him…” 

“Well, I want to try it.” Lethina sniffed the bottle, glanced between the older students, then took a sip. “Strong,” she coughed delicately against the back of her hand. 

“What even is spirit wine?” Erend asked. “Does it make you see spirits?”

“It might make you  _ think _ you see spirits, should you drink enough if it,” Sevine giggled, swiping the bottle from Lethina for a second sip. “I, personally, have never done so. Dorian?”

“It’s a Rivaini liquor,” Dorian shrugged, “and maybe once or twice.”

“Not real ones, though, right?” Erend frowned. 

Lethina shook her head, resting her chin on Dorian’s knee. “Tell us about the times you did, Dorian.”

“Yes, tell us, Dorian,” Sevine simpered, snickering into the bottle. 

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that!” Dorian crossed his legs underneath him, leaning against the wall. “Not much I remember of those evenings, I’m afraid. Mostly just the headache the morning after.”

Sevine saluted him with her wine, passing it back. “The sign of a truly great evening.”

“Shouldn’t you want to remember it?” Lethina looked between them curiously. “If something wondrous happens, shouldn’t you always wish to remember it?”

“Ah, given the company I was with, a headache and amnesia was the best I could’ve hoped for,” Dorian chuckled, shaking his head. “Bunch of rapscallions. Not anything like you lot.”

“And what  _ are _ we like, pray tell?” Sevine narrowed her eyes. “Think carefully before you speak, my lord.”

“I always think before I speak,” he winked, drinking a deep draught. “You are… studious. Cultured. Concerned with appearances. And you smell quite a bit better.”

She chuckled, “You're like one of my aunt’s horoscopes. Vague generalities that could reference anyone.”

Erend wound his hands together, watching them. “May I try it? Just a taste?” He frowned, “I suppose I’ll get in trouble regardless just for being here. I might as well, right?”

“Absolutely!” Dorian beamed, passing him the bottle. “Small at first, or you’ll spit it out.”

The young man sipped, wincing slightly, then handed it back. “Spicy.”

“Erend has a southerner’s tongue,” Lethina laughed. 

“I don’t.”

“You do.” She collected the bottle, taking a gulp, then passing it back to Sevine. “I should very much like to see spirits, preferably false ones that one needn’t ward against.”

“Oh dear,” Dorian laughed, looking down at her. “We’ve sullied another one. Quick, someone grab the Father.”

“Don’t overdo it, Leth,” Sevine rolled her eyes, “or you might forget wondrous moments in a dusty storeroom.” She clapped her hands together. “Shall we play a game? Games and alcohol were made for each other.”

“Yes!” Lethina beamed, flushed, leaning against Dorian again. “What sort of game?”

“Let’s see…” She thumbed her chin. “We take turns asking one other person a question with a one word answer.” Sevine grinned, pulling out a stone from her pocket. “They can lie, if they like. The asker can choose to consult with the spirits, and if they’re right, the stone will turn blue and the answerer will have to drink. If they’re wrong, then the asker has to drink for them and do something silly.”

“Silly,” Erend repeated suspiciously, but he seemed determined. “What sort of charm is that?” He reached for the stone.

“Ah, ah,” she said, sneaking it back into a pocket. “You want to play or not?”

“I’ll play.” He rubbed his hands together, “So long as whatever it is stays in this room.”

“But of course,” Dorian nodded towards him, “a gentleman never drinks and tells.”

Erend frowned at the stone and inclined his head. “Alright.”

“Me, too, I want to play. Don’t you?” Lethina rested her chin on his knee again, peering at Dorian with a soft flutter of her lashes.

Dorian shot a glance at Sevine, but she just shrugged, her mouth a crooked line. Cursing himself for avoiding a difficult conversation with Lethina, he sighed. “I suppose I shall.”

“I’ll start,” Sevine smirked, “just to show you lot how it’s done.” She settled in on her stool, fluffing the fall of her robes. “Dorian. Are you as terrible at Wicked Grace as I think?”

“Wherever would you get such a notion?” Dorian laughed, taking the bottle from Sevine. “I happen to be excellent at cards.”

“One word answers,” she shook her head, tsking, “It’s like you’re  _ trying _ to lose.” 

Dorian took a sip, winking. “Ah, but if I lose, I get more wine. My turn, is it?” He turned to Erend, with a grin. “Was it  _ true _ you’d a list of the first twenty Archons on the back of your wrist for our most recent Imperial history exam?”

Erend huffed, his cheeks reddening. “Dariunius, Danarius, Dalinius, Dorinicus, Domernican, it’s not just me who has trouble keeping all the ‘D’ Archons straight.” He held out a hand and Dorian passed him the bottle. “Fine. You win.” He winced as he took a sip. “Sev, is there anyone you fancy?”

She cackled, rocking back on her seat. “Yes.”

“Who?” he asked, thumbing the rim of the bottle. “Someone we know?”

“Not part of the game. Back to me!” She fixed Lethina with narrowed eyes. “Same question.”

“Yes,” she blushed. 

“Who?” Erend grimaced.

“Not part of the  _ game _ ,” Sevine chided. “Honestly was no one listening when I explained the rules?”

“I don’t mind saying,” Lethina glanced up at Dorian. 

“Not,” his voice was strained, barely above a whisper, “part of the game. It doesn’t do to give away all of your secrets in one go.”

“Perhaps I’m tired of secrets,” she lifted her brows. “Aren’t you?”

“Makes for a rather quick game, no?” Dorian shrugged, “And secrets are a part of life, are they not?”

Sevine rolled her eyes. “Are you going to chatter or are we going to drink?” She smirked, playing with a loose thread on her robes. “We can chatter anytime. Spirit wine makes for a special occasion.”

Erend frowned, looking down at his hands. 

Lethina sighed, “ _ Fine _ . Did I pass, oh spirit stone?”

“Yes, yes, you’re about as subtle as a peacock,” Sevine waved a hand. “Question. Ask.”

She tugged one of her long curls over her shoulder, twisting the ends around her finger as she met his eyes, “Is there anyone in this room that you like?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “but of course!” Dorian beamed, looking about the dark storeroom. “We are all friends, are we not?”

“That isn’t-“

“He answered your question.” Sevine sniffed, touching the stone, “And the spirits approve. Your move, Pavus.”

“Hmm…” He thumbed his mustache, gazing at her. “Did your mother still send you that spirit wine, even though you didn’t manage to defeat me?”

“Maybe…” She wiggled her brows, beaming, “yes, she did. Damn you, I hoped to drink it myself!” Sevine cackled, turning to Erend. “Are you betrothed to anyone? I cannot seem to recall.”

“Uh, yeah,” Erend scrubbed a hand through his hair, “unfortunately. She’s five years younger and  _ annoying _ . Gods, why’d you have to remind me?”

She winked at him. “We all have these challenges. You’re not alone, you know? Mine’s a dullard.”

“ _ So _ annoying,” Erend repeated miserably. 

“Vapid,” Dorian agreed. “Vapid and vain. It’s horrid.” He extended his hand towards Erend and the boy passed him the bottle. He took a pull and rested it between his legs. “Your turn, I believe.”

He sighed, hugging his knee, frowning back at him. “Alright. What was the most embarrassing nickname you ever had?” 

“Me?” Dorian considered, tilting his head. “Casia, I suppose. I botched a potion in alchemy when I was at Perivantium and my classmates called me that for weeks. My skin turned the loveliest shade of purple; I can’t understand why they thought it was so funny. And then I left.” He nodded at Erend, frowning. “Same question, for you, my friend.”

Erend wrinkled his nose, holding a hand out for the bottle. “I’ll pass.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian gave it to him. “Sorry to hit upon a sore spot. Yours again?”

The younger man drank deep and gagged, coughing into his elbow. “What would you not want any of us to ask you about?” 

“Only one thing? And one word?” Dorian glanced at Sevine, questioning.

“Go on, Pavus,” she sighed. “You’re all terrible at this game. Answer or drink.”

“Family.” Dorian raised a brow. “Happy?”

Erend nodded.

Dorian took the bottle from Erend and tapped Lethina’s shoulder with it. “What do you plan to do once you graduate?”

“Do?” She tucked her head to the side. “Work with my father until I marry, I suppose.” 

“One. Word.” Sevine huffed, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re all hopeless.”

“That’s all? No great ambitions?” Dorian looked at her curiously. “Just work and wed?”

“Oh!” she flushed, “I could! I never thought of it. It always seemed inevitable, is all.”

Sevine stole the bottle, shaking her head and drinking. 

“You’re clever enough. You don’t need to fall into step with the path your parents have laid out before you.” Dorian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s your turn, I believe.”

Lethina gazed up at him, her lips widening into a smile. “You think I’m clever?”

“Yes, I just said that.” Dorian chuckled, taking the bottle from Sevine and handing it to her. “I believe you needed to drink. My turn again. What about you, Sev? Same question I posed to Lethina.”

“Senate,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be taking mother’s seat eventually, so I’d best get used to the machinations early. Same with you, eh, Pavus?”

“I’d rather spend my time doing research than herding cats, but I suppose you’re right.”

“You could always research herding cats,” Sevine laughed, lazy. “We could put little bells around the floor and train them to drink at the same time.”

“Now  _ there’s _ an idea,” Dorian grinned. “Send reports to me on the Magisters’ comings and goings so we can determine whether it’s an accurate model species. I’ll let you pet the cats, in return. Maybe we can finally find a way to get the Senate to agree on something other than lunchtime.”

“See! You’re already thinking in the right way.” She whacked his knee, laughing. “We’ll get them sorted. No worries.”

“Your turn,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Is there much left in the bottle, Leth?”

“Some,” she shook the bottle, eliciting a sloshy noise, and handed it to him, brushing his fingers as she did. 

Sevine snorted, her shoulders shaking, “I told you. Let’s see… First kiss.”

“Awkward,” Dorian snorted. “As they usually are, I’d imagine. The name of yours?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Albanus,” she said slowly. “Yours?”

He raised a brow, smiling slightly. “Serona. Such a pretty smile. My turn?”

“Pre-“ she smiled, “Perfect.”

He exhaled sharply, coughing and sputtering, holding his hand out for the bottle and tipping it up. “Erend. Who has the loveliest eyes in this room? Other than myself, of course. Not exactly fair competition.”

Erend’s cheeks darkened. “That- I haven’t noticed.”

“Ah!” Dorian smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “You should, next time we’re in better lighting. Mine are particularly riveting, I know. It’s yours, now.”

“Is- Is it?” Erend blinked. “Oh. Ah-“

“And drink,” Sevine pointed at him. 

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat, looking to Lethina with his heart in his eyes. “Do you think kittens are cute?”

“Yes?” She giggled, turning to Dorian. “I think Erend’s had a bit too much to drink! Who  _ doesn’t _ think kittens are cute?”

Dorian wanted to hug the poor sod. How couldn’t she see how he was gazing at her? How he’d been trailing after her since—long before Dorian had arrived, probably. A much better match. For a thousand different reasons. He glanced at Sevine, frowning.

“ _ Dorian _ ,” Lethina trilled, tilting her head up towards him, beaming, “is there someone, perchance, in this very room, who you’d like to kiss?”

Dorian closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Are you sure you want to ask that question?”

“Of course, silly!” She nudged him with the back of her head. “ _ Anyone _ , here, right now?”

“Alright, if that’s what you truly wish to know.” He exhaled, meeting her eyes with a small, sad smile, taking the bottle from Erend. “No, there isn’t. I’m sorry, Leth. This isn’t how you should’ve found out. I’d be a poor choice for you and it’s not your fault; there are options who would suit you far better than I. One of them might be closer than you’d expect.” Dorian took a long pull, leaning heavily against the wall, closing his eyes. He felt warm, far too warm, and warmer still, now that he’d said the words. He could only dance around it for so long. “I’m sorry.”

He heard her soft intake of breath. “You- You don’t know that,” she whispered. 

“I do,” he said miserably, “I’m quite certain of it. I’d like for you to be happy. You won’t be, with me.” He wanted to sink into the stone and plummet through the earth. Lethina was a sweet young woman; she deserved better than finding out about his feelings—or lack thereof—in a dusty closet, drunk on wine, and in front of her friends. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re wrong,” she frowned, sniffling, as she clamored to her feet. Lethina crossed her arms, hugging herself. “You don’t know that.”

“Lethina, I  _ do _ .” He looked at Sevine, helplessly, unsure of what to do, his heart dropping like a boulder towards his feet. “I could never make you happy. You deserve someone who will adore you and dote on you.” He wrung his hands, absently spinning the gold band on his fourth finger. “I’m—I will only ever be able to see you as a friend.”

“You’re wrong,” she hissed, scowling. “That isn’t- You’re wrong. I can prove it.” She fled for the door, flinging it open and running into the corridor. 

Sevine sighed. “Let her go,” she held a hand out in front of Erend. “She’ll be more likely to come around if you’re not chasing her.”

“ _ Kaffas _ , that was dreadful,” Dorian put the bottle to his lips and drained it, fire rushing down his throat. “Poor girl. I should’ve done something about it weeks ago.”

“Yes,” she agreed simply.

“I was just hoping it would blow over; it seemed like it might’ve for a bit, but…” He covered his face with his palm. “Erend, if you’re going to, you need to say something in a few days, after she’s cooled off, before she latches onto someone else.”

He shifted uneasily on his feet. “Me? What-“

“Come off of it, puppy,” Sevine lifted her brows. “It’s incredible she hasn’t seen it, but don’t let that make you think that you’re in any way subtle.”

Erend flushed. “Oh.” He looked at Dorian, ducked his head. “Oh.” 

Sevine dropped an arm around Dorian’s shoulders. “Sorry, dove.”

“I’m not certain I’m the one you should be comforting,” he stared at the door. “I don’t know what made her think I was interested.” Dorian turned to Erend. “You’ll be better than I am. We can help you plan an approach if you’d like. Sev’s quite the romantic.”

“Oh, yes,” she kissed Dorian’s cheek, laughing. “Terribly! Let’s plan an attack! I mean, a romance.” Sevine held a hand out to Erend, “I’ll spy for you. I’ve always wanted to. Happiness for everyone.”

“Are you two—?” Erend stared between them, clearly perplexed. “Um…”

“Not in the slightest,” Dorian laughed. “Nice try, though. Sevine’s just affectionate, is all.”

“I can’t stand a mustache,” Sevine batted her eyes. “Otherwise, you’d be perfect, dove.”

“Oh,  _ that’s _ what it is? Allow me to find my razor, then.”

“Yes, I’d like to see you shave it off.” She smirked. “I can’t imagine anyone would miss it.”

“ _ Excuse _ you,” Dorian balked, glaring. “My facial hair has many admirers, I’m certain.”

“ _ Are _ you?” Sevine grinned, taking Erend’s hand. “It’s going to be alright, puppy. We’ll see you through.” 

Erend swallowed, wide-eyed. “You knew? You both knew? All this time?”

“Were you trying to be discreet?” Dorian smiled, shaking his head. “We’re going to need to work on your Wicked Grace face. The Praetor doesn’t exactly approve of romance, so you’ll need to be careful.”

“I  _ know _ !” he sighed. “I thought I was. I- I thought I was.” His shoulders sagged. “I just- She’s so-“ He sighed again. “Isn’t she?”

“Eh,” Sevine shrugged. “She’ll do, since you’re so fond. But Dorian’s right. You need some time practicing facial expressions in a mirror.”

He grimaced, sighing deeply. “You really think she’d—“

“Anything is possible,” Dorian smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “If you risk nothing, you’ll gain nothing. Might as well ask her and see what she says, no?”

“I suppose…” he glanced up at Dorian, before his eyes dropped to his hands again. “I… was angry with you.”

Sevine snorted, ruffling his hair. “We  _ know _ , puppy. You wear your heart on your sleeve. I’ll try and teach you to tuck it away, for your own sake.”

“Yes, but,” Erend took his hand back from her, staring up at Dorian. “I… your mother spoke to me, during the feast. I’ve been telling her things about you.”

There it was. Rilienus had been right. Of course he had been; he was going to be as good at the game as mother one day. Too trusting. Too damned trusting. And Erend was so… How hadn’t he seen it before?

“Nothing that useful, she said,” Erend wrung his hands, smoothing them down his robe. “She gave me a crystal and said there’d be a reward if I helped her. I didn’t even care what it was; I was so mad at you I could hardly think.”

“At Dorian.” Sevine frowned at him. “You let yourself be manipulated because, what? Dorian got kissed by a girl you like?”

“Yeah—“ he sighed, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry. I was just… I don’t know. I was stupid, I guess. I can… stop talking to her, if you like?”

“No,” Dorian said quietly. “Keep talking to her. Fill her ears with inanities. She’d be suspicious if you suddenly stopped.” Rilienus would be pleased. Their threat, dealt with. Danger averted. They were safe again. Safe to fall into each other's arms and—

“Can you forgive me?” Erend asked pathetically, shuffling from one foot to another. “I’m sorry for… all of it.”

“Oh, puppy,” Sevine shook her head. “People do all manner of foolish things when they’re in love. He forgives you. Yes?”

“Yeah,” Dorian stared at the top of his head. “I do. I will. I need to… if you don’t mind, I’d like to…”

“Go on, dove. I’ll watch over this one.”

He pushed through the door, feeling strange. Miserable, miserable and slightly relieved. Erend had betrayed him, but they’d rooted out the spy. Lethina had been dealt with. Kailish knew of a way  _ out _ . It took every measure of composure to keep Dorian from running through the halls, trying to find Rilienus, to spill everything that happened, and then to spill over him, kissing him until they’d forgotten their own names.

Safe. Bless them, they might actually be  _ safe _ .


	27. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet (1/2)*

##  Rilienus

She looked like a spirit of Grief; he’d seen them enough in his dreams. Drawn and pale, cheeks shiny with tears, twisting her curls in her hands. 

Dorian’s friend. 

Not his problem. 

He had his evidence. Erend had had the sending crystal tucked away in his desk. Wrapped in a piece of wool that was - frankly - rank with resonance. Rilienus smoothed a hand down his robes, looking past Lethina as he made his way down the corridor.

“Prefect?” She trembled, stepping into his path. “May I speak with you?”

“Is something amiss?” He thought of Heritia. Of the girl who only the week before had asked to have her room warded against a boorish upperclassman. 

The girl looked down, still twisting her hair in her fingers. “In private, Dominus?”

Rilienus frowned, concern etching in where he didn’t want it. He bowed his head, leading her to a classroom and holding the door for her. “In your own time,” he murmured, watching her as she walked around the vacant room, touching desks and shelves. 

“Is this what it’s like?” she asked quietly.

“What what’s like?”

“When you go into these rooms together,” she murmured. “Do you talk first? Or do you-“ She turned, narrowing her eyes on him, dropping her hands to fists at her sides. “It’s one thing for you to play your games together,” she scowled, “but you can’t have him.”

He stood by the door, her gaze turning his stomach to a solid lump of lead. “Pardon?”

“You’re going to end things with him. Now.” She lifted her chin. “You’re going to stop confusing him.”

_ No _ . Rilienus held still. “You’re the one who appears to be confused.”

“I know what you are. I know what you’ve done. I’ve seen you. That was fine, but it’s gone too far now.” She stepped towards him. “I’ll tell the Praetor. I’ll tell the Praeceptor. I’ll tell everyone.”

“Tell them what exactly?” he asked quietly. 

Not Grief, but Rage. Shimmering with barely banked fire. “Everyone thinks you’re so scary,” she narrowed her eyes. “But I see how he looks at you. I pay attention. You aren’t scary. You’re just a poison. You’re going to stop seeing him. You’re going to stop it. You’re going to give him back to me, or I’ll unwind every rumor I’ve wrought to protect him. It’ll be obvious to everyone: what you are, what you’ve done.” She sneered, “I’ll make certain that it is. I’ll make certain that his family knows just what sort of  _ influence _ he’s been getting from the prefects here-“

He watched her move- restless, furious, fists opening and closing. Rilienus remained still. Silent. 

Silent.

Stealthily, he unwrapped the ward from his wrist as she paced and spat. Took hold of its threads and dampened their light as he spread it behind him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said softly. “But I can see that you are distraught.”

She sneered, turning on him. “You think you’re so clever, but I found your notes. The ones you write him. Poems. Room numbers and times. I found them and I can give them to whoever I want.”

Notes. Notes he’d never signed. But resonance and handwriting were as good as a signature. He’d always been careful to avoid anything that might give them away, but- all of them? If she’d found all of them, the volume was enough of a context. He couldn’t feel his own heartbeat. He was in a world made of silence and darkness, staring out at the fire flashing around the space before him. “What?” he asked instead of breathing. 

“I’ll give them back to you, when I have him again as I’m supposed to.” She lifted her chin. “When you return Dorian to me, I will return your evidence to you. That’s the deal.”

“There’s no deal,” Rilienus murmured. “And no evidence. Evidence requires facts. What you have are wild accusations and baseless speculation.” He lifted a brow. “Am I to understand that you’re attempting to blackmail me over some misunderstanding you’ve had with another student? That’s rather serious. Especially given… Is that a hint of alcohol on the air?  _ Very _ serious indeed.” He pressed his heels into the ground. “Go to your room. Think about the consequences of your actions. And be grateful that I am not bringing you directly to the Praeceptor myself.”

The girl stared at him hard. 

“Now, if you please. I have better things to do with my time.” 

He watched her gather herself, stalking from the room, and slowly wound the ward back around his wrist. Trouble. That was going to be trouble. 

Return Dorian to her? Like a library book? Like something borrowed? The girl was out of her mind. As if he  _ could  _ even if he’d had the will to do so. He could find the notes, if she truly did have them. Why would Dorian have kept them anyway? Sentimentality? The thought warmed him slightly even as he turned her words over in his head again and again. He’d called her bluff, but that was only a temporary solution. He could explain the notes if she did something with them. He’d been careful with what he’d written. So long as Dorian kept to the story, they would be fine. They would need to be careful. But they would survive it. Easier to find them and burn them before she had a chance to share them. 

Erend first. He was the greater risk. The direct line to the Pavus household. That was their most direct threat. Once that was dealt with… then they could worry about the girl and her heartbreak. 

He sat through dinner, eating sparingly, focusing on his plate. Give nothing away. Ask nothing in return. Only be and breathe and keep calm. Hope. Hope and a plan. They could manage. They would. They could do anything. 

In the Chantry, he prayed. He prayed to the Maker for guidance and to Andraste for determination. He couldn’t feel them when he did, like some of the Chantry brothers said they did. No presence; no warm bask of love or burn of awareness. He wasn’t sure they were there or, if they were, if they had any remaining interest in the world they’d left behind. Spirits that remained in the Fade tended to lose sight of the waking world, of its ways, and he doubted gods were any different. But just in case, he prayed, because he believed that if they did exist, they’d made him. They’d made Dorian. They’d made the looms that wove the world’s tapestry. That Rilienus had been made for Dorian, he believed wholeheartedly. And if that was as true as it felt, then surely the Fates or the gods would look kindly on him as he worked to keep them together. They had to. 

In his rooms, in the evening, he paced, watching the wall, waiting for the tease of ozone and the hum of the crystals activating. 

Action, finally. Something to do. Knowledge to gather. A tricky game to play, but a game that they could win. “Good news,” he said as Dorian stepped through, catching his hand in his own to kiss his palm. “We were right. It’s been Erend. I left the sending crystal where it was. I think-“ 

“I know, my love,” Dorian smiled slightly, hugging him tightly. “He confessed as much to me when I turned Lethina down. You were right. He’s offered to keep speaking to Mother, if it would please me.”

“He confessed?” That took a small beat of reprocessing. “Maker’s breath, you really do make actual friends. Extremely unorthodox.” Rilienus kissed his cheek, holding him close. “The girl came to see me. You didn’t actually keep the notes I’ve given you, did you?”

“I…” his brow furrowed. “Yes, some of them. On my person, though; I couldn’t bring myself to part with them all. How did you—did she— _ Lethina _ came to see you? What…” Rilienus could feel Dorian’s jaw tense, his muscles tightening. “What happened?”

“She was rather upset and demanded that I return you to her.” He lifted a brow. “So the turning down was not well received, I take it.”

“ _ Return _ me?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “How can she possibly expect you to  _ return _ something that never belonged to her?” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not certain how I could’ve been kinder, given the circumstances.”

“I’m less concerned with her feelings and slightly more interested in why she claims she has proof of something between us, and her willingness to do something about that.”

“Do--she threatened you?” Dorian cupped his cheeks, peering at him. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it. She won’t hurt you,  _ amatus _ . I won’t let her do anything that could hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of an underclassman.” Rilienus kissed his fingers. “I called her bluff and I do believe I may have worried her when I suggested I might take her to the Praeceptor myself, accusations or no accusations. But. Noise is noise. And I do very much enjoy our quiet.” He cleared his throat. “What notes might she actually have? She said that she had poems and meeting arrangements. If we know what she’s working with, we can prepare a response.”

“I kept nearly half a volume of Elodie Abernache’s poetry, with a few scribbled times and rooms in the corners of a few of them. She must not have many if I didn’t notice their absence; I look over them from time to time.”

“Saccharine,” Rilienus sighed, smoothing Dorian’s hair back. “Check your collection. If it’s only a couple of them, I can easily handle her if she does go ahead with her complaint to the Praeceptor or the Praetor. Abernache… is tricky, but not unassailable.” He glanced between Dorian’s eyes. “We’ll deal with it. It’s alright. And Erend… is manageable. They’re both manageable. Troublesome, but manageable.”

“Return me,” he laughed lightly, “as though I could be torn from your side. As though I’d choose  _ her  _ over you. Deluded. I told her that I didn’t reciprocate her feelings—that I couldn’t. I even suggested that Erend was fond of her. I don’t know what else I could’ve done.”

Rilienus shook his head. “She didn’t seem entirely… sober. A fact that I’ll wager factored into her lack of sense. That, and you- You’re intoxicating in your own right. I can hardly fault her taste.”

“We had a bit of spirit wine,” Dorian admitted, running a hand down Rilienus’ robes. “Drinking always makes me…” he grinned wryly, “a bit ravenous. And we’ve had a victory today. Shall we celebrate?”

“A victory?” he chuckled, already growing tight at the feel of Dorian’s fingers, the softening of his voice. Ah, but he was beautiful. Optimistic and reckless and likely a little mad, but they both were that. Bound, connected, fated. He nuzzled his nose to Dorian’s cheek, kissing down his jaw to his neck. “Spirit wine, was it?”

“A touch,” Dorian chuckled, already unclasping his own robes. “Spiced and sweet and strong. A bit like you,  _ mon rossignol _ .” His hands worked their way down, tugging at the fabric haphazardly, fumbling ever so slightly from the influence of the alcohol. “You’re going to keep me, yes? Safe, here, and in your arms? Where we can celebrate every night, if we wish?”

“I thought we’d already established this.” He laughed, allowing himself to be rummaged back against his desk, stroking his hands over Dorian’s shoulders and down his arms. “I am keeping you, Dorian Pavus, come the Void or fadestorms.”

“Just reiterating,” Dorian nuzzled against him, letting his robes slip over his shoulders. “I can’t wait to get out of this blasted tower and see the world with you.”

“A hundred ceilings,” Rilienus chuckled, sighing his pleasure as he traced the warm, caramel planes of Dorian’s biceps. “An endless sky. Only a few more years and they’ll all be ours.”

“Indeed.” Dorian scooted the papers and instruments neatly organized on Rilienus’ desk aside to lift him, setting him on its surface. He wrapped his arms around Rilienus’ shoulders, bending slightly to kiss him, humming with tangible joy. “But I’ve got you now. Ceilings and skies can wait. You’re sweeter, my darling, than a world without walls.” Dorian ran his tongue along his upper lip. “Delightfully sweet. I crave the taste of you when we’re parted; you’re chilled whiskey at the end of a summer day, sea salt and—Maker’s tears, I want you.” Dorian nipped at his lip. “Give yourself to me, and we can both touch the stars.”

As if there was a question. As if there was a choice. Rilienus tugged him closer, tightening his thighs around him as he lost himself in the touch of Dorian’s lips, his hands, his chest pressing against his own, the roll of his hips- “Yes,” he panted, “yes, yours.” He sank his fingers into Dorian’s hair, moaning at the silk and spice, “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours. Dorian,” he arched, grinning against his lips. 

Dorian leaned him back, slipping his silk breeches and smalls over his legs, before peeling out of his own. He bent between Rilienus’ legs, stroking him, kissing down his thighs, his mustache tickling soft, sensitive skin. “ _ Kaffas _ , you’re handsome.” Dorian’s lips and tongue worked their way up his flesh, nuzzling against the base of his hardening shaft. “And so eager. Beautiful. I’m flattered.”

“Flattered?” Rilienus chuckled, gasping as shimmers of ephemeral pleasure worked across his skin and deep into his core, making him ache for more. “Ah, yes, you should- hmm- should be. Makes perfect sense.” He licked his lips, peering down his body to the movement of Dorian’s lips. He reached, cupping the back of Dorian’s neck and squeezing gently. “I am also flattered.”

Dorian hummed in appreciation, running his hands along Rilienus’ thighs. “I’m going to spend all night on you,  _ mon rossignol _ , satisfy you again and again, until you beg me for respite.”

“Yes-“ Rilienus groaned, letting his head fall back as the whisper of Dorian’s mustache and the heat of his breath and the soft of his lips drove the sense clear out of his head. He gripped the edge of the desk, “Yes- What- What would-“ 

He felt the shift of his wards, heard the song of them alerting a breathless second before the knock. Rilienus swallowed, staring at the door. No one ever came to his door. Ever. That was the  _ point _ of his dangerous reputation; students didn’t bother him. “Fuck-“

Dorian closed his eyes for a beat, before reaching down to grab his robes from the floor. “Get rid of them quickly, please.” He frowned, slipping his silk back on. “I had  _ plans _ for the evening.”

“Just hide, will you?” Rilienus chuckled, kissing him hungrily. “You can have me in seconds. Minutes at the most.” He slipped off the desk and drew his trousers back up, tossing his smalls at the man. “Promise.”

“Better be seconds,” Dorian grumbled, waving his hand and summoning an illusory bookshelf around himself, vanishing from sight.

Rilienus shook his head with a huff, smoothing his hand over his lips and through his hair as he attempted to right himself, whistling his wards to quiet. He plucked the crystals from the wall and tucked them into his pocket, walking to the door. “What?” he growled, swinging it open, and found himself looking down at pale blue eyes and soft blonde curls. “Again?” he asked, irritably. “What do you want now?”

“Let me in.”

“Piss off. I’m not available for personal requests. You have a problem, report it to the Praeceptor. Would you like a form?”

“Hmm,” she smiled, sticking her foot into the door as she pulled a slender crystal on a silver chain out of her pocket. “Now, now. No need to be so rude. Do you know what this is?”

He did. He’d left it in the drawer of Erend’s desk only hours before. What he didn’t understand was how it came to be in her hand now. In for a copper, he steadied his breath, watching her with narrowed eyes. “Contraband,” he held out a hand. “I’ll take it and turn it in.”

“I was playing nice earlier.” She pulled back, smiling sweetly. “Maker’s breath, your whole room smells like him. Have you been engaged in prohibited activities, Prefect? I wonder how Lady Pavus would react to hearing a few of your letters to her precious son. Should we find out?”

“As I said before,” he crossed his arms. “I don’t know what strange ideas you’ve cooked up in your addled mind, but you’re wrong. And you’re extremely fortunate that I don’t have a penchant for whipping girls, or you’d have been on the Praeceptor's rug earlier for having been drinking. Now hand over the contraband before I get irritated.”

“Sneaking around with a magister’s son. You should know better.” Lethina flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I’m sure Lady Pavus will find my ‘strange ideas’ very intriguing. I heard about your little display outside of the dormitories. Who do you think spun  _ that _ debacle to your advantage, Maecilia? I have your notes. And I’m  _ certain _ there’s something of his in your room. I wonder what other allowances you’ve made for him? Do you really think anyone will believe a criminal over me, prefect or not?”

“I may be a criminal,” Rilienus peered down his nose at her, “but I was an Altus first. And blood tells, doesn’t it, little Laetan?” He caught her wrist. “Do you know what I did to get convicted? Hm? Brazen little heartbroken mage, forgetting yourself, aren’t you? Let go of the crystal, Lethina. Let go of it, and let go of this pathetic demonstration. It won’t get you what you want.”

“I don’t  _ fear _ you,” she sneered. “Dorian doesn’t, and neither do I. End it. I don’t care what you tell him. You can’t have him; you're just a toy. It’s time you were discarded.”

“Don’t test me,” he hissed, squeezing her wrist as she struggled to free herself. He yanked her into the room and slammed the door behind her. “Don’t fear me?” He snatched the crystal from her hand and tossed it aside, “Maybe you should.”

“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him, if you hurt me,” she spat, shoving him. “I’ll tell him and he’ll hate you when he sees what you are. A  _ monster _ . A monster and a fool who doesn’t know his place.”

Gods, she was a rabid little alley cat. Rilienus smirked, even as his heart pounded. Just give it up, he prayed, but he could see that she wouldn’t. He could see it in her eyes. The anger, the determination, the pure fanatical belief that she would somehow  _ win _ this. As though Dorian were some  _ thing _ that could be won. “You’ve got me there,” he let his smile widen, forced his eyes wide in the display of madness that had once scared an apprentice from the ramparts to leave him in peace. “But no one will know if I hurt you, you idiot. Because you walked. Right. In.” He snapped the air in front of her with his teeth. “I was getting hungry.”

“Let me go, you freak!” She writhed, stepping on his foot hard and turning from his grasp. She dove for the amulet, grabbing the chain with her fingers and running towards his desk. 

He whistled sharply and snapped his fingers, breaking the chain and pulling the crystal back to his hand with his will. “You’re in my world now.” He opened a correspondence pocket and tossed the crystal inside, twisting his ring to shut it. “How about we consider that you are helpless? Helpless and small? That I can have you in a black box faster than you can scream? That I would be rewarded for that? You think that you’ll get your friend to like you by making an enemy of me? That’s your grand plan?”

“ _ Do _ it.” She snarled, her hair in disarray, the pretty gold ribbons nearly falling out. “Throw me in a box. You  _ won’t _ . I’m not leaving until I have your word it’s over.”

“There’s nothing to end, you aggravating creature.”

“Then why did you seem so concerned about the letters? And why are you trying to frighten me off like a child? I’m not afraid of you!” 

“You  _ are _ a child.” Rilienus let her go, sighing. “I’m not concerned. I’m annoyed. I don’t enjoy being annoyed. Especially not by disrespectful children who have no idea what they’re talking about. Now I’m going to have to report you and that is going to be an infernal waste of my time.”

“He was just here, wasn’t he?” She looked up at him, smiling. “He was here.” Lethina cackled, wildly. “That satchel, by your door. His smell, all over- Anise so strong you can almost taste it on your tongue. You’re not very smart, are you?” She grinned, dipping low to pick up the bag. “Aren’t you  _ tired _ of secrets? Your whole life is a lie, isn’t it?”

He whistled sharply and the leather made a sound like skin against skin as it skidded across the floor to land against the wall behind him. “Have you actually lost your mind?” 

“Why?” She howled, wounded. “Why do you cling to him so? It’s not  _ fair _ !”

Even without the crystal, she could find some way to get word to Dorian’s parents. And then what? Would they kill him outright? Investigate? “Lethina. I need you to listen to me. I’m not in the habit of doling out advice to underclassmen, but I have to tell you- this display is decidedly unappealing. It’s a disservice to you. And it's more emotion that I really like to see in my personal space. I’m not sure why you’re so convinced of your delusion, but I’m certain that one of the healers might be able to speak with you about it.”

She fell to her knees, sobbing on his floor, burying her face in her hands. “I’m  _ not _ delusional. Why would he…?” She shuddered against the ground, shaking. “I know you had something to do with it! I know it. It has to be…”

“Wrong.” He crossed his arms, watching her. “I don’t know why you’re making me a part of this whole fiasco, but interpersonal relationships between students are supposed to be restricted to platonic interaction. So. You’ve dodged an arrow.”

“Stop it,” she murmured, crying into the carpet. “Please. Please, just—“ Lethina looked up at him, tears falling steadily down her cheeks. “Why does it hurt so much? Why can’t I be good enough?”

“I doubt it has to do with that.” Rilienus sighed, rolling his eyes, and held out a hand, “Just… stand up, for one. You’ll drip kohl on my rug.” 

She sobbed, throwing her arms around his shoulders. “Then  _ why _ ? I just thought—I only wanted…” Lethina shook, a thin, reed-like thing he could’ve blown over with a whisper. “I thought he  _ liked _ me. Is there—“ she sniffed. “Is there something wrong with me?”

He patted her once on the back, standing awkwardly in her grasp. “Ah… A whole host of things, I imagine. But we’re all imperfect, yes?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, rising slowly with his help. “I’m sorry—I’m—I don’t know what—I don’t—“ Lethina shook her head, crying harder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Less prohibited substances in the future, alright?” Rilienus winced at her face, plucking a rag from beside his alchemy bench to dab at her eyes. “They clearly don’t sit well with you. You’re lucky I’m a lazy prefect.”

“You’re better than Bana and Lamonis,” she coughed, hiding her face in her hands. “Lazy is good. You won’t… you won’t tell about what happened?”

“What happened when?”

She started sobbing again, nearly falling back to her knees onto the floor, shivering and shaking, kohl streaming down her damp cheeks, eyes red and puffy. 

“Maker’s breath, what? What now?” He held her aloft, patting at her cheeks. “Stop  _ crying _ . It’s getting ridiculous.”

“Why are you being  _ nice _ to me?” She wailed, rubbing her eyes. “You’re supposed to be terrible so I can hate you.”

“I tried that,” he muttered. “You insisted on behaving like a lunatic.” He set her firmly back a step to stand on her own two feet. “You’re sixteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. Stop weeping over what you can’t have and focus on what you can. And for Andraste’s sake, stop confiding in prefects. That isn’t healthy.”

“You won’t tell him, will you?” Lethina sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Please don’t tell him.”

“This  _ one _ time,” he held up a finger, “I will not tell the Praeceptor. One. Don’t expect any more favors from me.”

“I meant  _ Dorian _ .” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “The Praeceptor I can handle.”

“For the last time,” he gritted his teeth, looming over her. “I do not talk to your friend. I have no reason to and I don’t intend to start.” 

“Alright.” Lethina nodded, frowning. “Be nice to him, though.” She reached into her robes and pulled out several small sheets of parchment, covered in Orlesian verse, thrusting them at him. “Here. Yours. I’ll… I’ll go now. And,” she sniffed, wiping her face again. “Forget about all of this.”

“Wise,” he frowned at the papers, tossing them onto his desk with barely a glance. “Lethina… I don’t want to hear about you getting into any more of these incidents, understand? If it happens again, I may not be able to help you.”

“I don’t understand why you’re helping me in the first place.”

He rolled his eyes, “Everyone’s been drunk once. Try not to let it get the best of you.”

“Yes, Prefect,” she scampered towards the door. “I’ll stay out of trouble.”

He hummed quietly, releasing the wards before she reached it. “Straight back to your room, if you please. No more wandering after dark.”

Lethina nodded, looking back towards him, her hand on the doorknob. “Am I going to have a headache in the morning? I heard that’s what happens.”

“Drink some water with elfroot tonight. Wear extra kohl if the sun is high tomorrow. And be prepared to throw up.” He lifted his brows, “Not in a classroom, if you can help it.”

“Okay,” she bowed her head slightly, then slipped out of the door.

_ TBC _


	28. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet (2/2)*

##  [Rilienus]

Rilienus scrubbed a hand through his hair, returning to the desk to paw through the scraps of parchment.  _ Je donnerais n'importe quoi pour la barbe qui pousse sur les joues de celui qui - étant un soleil - est supérieur aux étoiles et même aux lunes.  _ [ 1 ] His breath caught in his chest. Tricky. Trickier to talk his way out of that particular line. Fuck. Reckless. Too reckless. They both were. 

Dorian winked back into sight as he allowed the illusion to drop. “ _ Vishante kaffas _ , what did I  _ do _ to her?” He crossed the room to stand behind Rilienus, reading over his shoulder.

“She’s sixteen, she’s in the Order, and you’re her first love. You didn’t need to do much.” He glanced back, “You  _ are _ too pretty, though. I think I’ve said.”

Dorian sighed, placing a hand on Rilienus’ shoulder. “She went from threatening you to weeping on your floor—Maker’s breath. And you  _ comforted _ her.” 

“I did no such thing.”

“I  _ saw _ you,” He leaned over, tilting Rilienus’ chin to meet his lips. “Growing soft, Maecilia. What shall we do with you?”

Rilienus huffed. “There was mention of satisfying me until I begged you to stop,” he grumbled.

“Ah, unfortunately, crying children don’t do much for my libido.”

“Allow me to bring your fawning coquette back and murder her, then.”

“...neither does murdering people?” He raised a brow. “As far as I’m aware, at least.”

“I’m being punished. I’m being punished by the Maker.” He sighed, leaning heavily against the desk. “She could have burned us with these,” he nudged the bits of parchment with his fingertips. “You need to be more careful.”

“Can I have them back, now?” He pressed his lips to the slender gold band, opening a pocket in the air. “I’ll put them where they belong.”

“How did she get them to begin with?” Rilienus asked wearily, collecting the scraps delicately. “And how did she get that dratted sending crystal?”

“I like to keep a few of them with me,” Dorian admitted, running a hand through his hair. “They must’ve—I don’t know. And Erend was  _ supposed _ to keep the crystal. She wasn’t even there when he told me about it. I don’t know, Ril.”

Rilienus caught his hand, squeezing it. “I can’t ask. And you shouldn’t, or it will be obvious you know. More obvious,” he frowned, shuffling the papers in his hands. Five. Five tiny slips of parchment that could have caused so much trouble. He kissed the scraps and rested them in Dorian’s palm. “In any case, it’s mine now. What do we do with it? Give it back to Erend? Do I turn it in to the Praeceptor?”

“You’re not supposed to know Erend had it.” Dorian turned to tuck the poems safely away in his pocket, closing it behind them. “Destroy it or keep it hidden. I don’t think we have any other options.”

“So much for using it to our advantage.” He sagged against the desk, itching his chin through his beard. “What a mess.”

“You handled it as best you could,” Dorian murmured, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “You did well, my love.”

“And yet, we have less to work with than we did before, and I still have my trousers on.” He tilted his head, “It doesn’t feel like much of a victory.” He kissed Dorian’s cheek and slipped past him, falling back on the bed, “What are you going to do about her?”

“Gods, what  _ can _ I do?” Dorian followed, curling up at his side. “I’m not going to fake a second clandestine relationship for her sake.”

“I should hope not. Things are complicated enough as it is.” He was  _ warm _ . And the mere presence of him curling against him eased a measure of Rilienus’ tension. He tucked his arm around Dorian’s shoulders. “Can you fake not knowing that she’s an absolute madwoman?”

“I’ll try. That display was…” Dorian chuckled, turning to face him, propping himself on an elbow. “I really hope that women don’t start fighting wars over me. It’d be such a bother.”

“Only men. Much better.”

“It’d be a futile effort, no?” Dorian bent down to kiss him. “I’m spoken for.”

“Wonderful. They’ll make war on  _ me _ . I hope you don’t make a habit of pouring your heartbroken onto my floor at night to weep at my feet.”

“I can’t help where my victims find solace.” Dorian smiled, easing himself to lie halfway on top of Rilienus. “Your arms are so very comforting. It’s not my fault others are starting to take notice.”

“I will not be domesticated before I’ve had an opportunity to be wild,” he snorted softly, rolling his eyes. “No. No more comforting. Especially not of your victims.” He thumbed Dorian’s chin. “What was I supposed to do with her? How can I expect anyone to resist this face? It’s impossible.”

“Clearly,” Dorian laughed, stroking his cheek. “You know, I wouldn’t mind a world where our biggest concern was whether we wished our curtains to be burgundy or mauve. Long, lazy mornings—the kind you like—and afternoons reading or debating or reluctantly putting clothes on to ramble towards the beach.” He closed his eyes, dropping to nestle against Rilienus’ shoulder. “Being wild is dreadfully exhausting.”

“So I see.” Rilienus gathered him close, kissing the top of his head. “Ochre or cream. What sort of dreadful place are you planning to live with crimson curtains?” He smelled so good. And the weight of him- He breathed low, letting his gaze linger down Dorian’s bare back. Every tight cord of muscle shifting as he breathed. “Did you finish your work for the night? Do you need me to wake you at some point?”

“Hush, I’m not sleeping just yet,” Dorian sighed, his eyes still closed, lips curling in a smile. “I need to practice polymorphing, but you’re so warm and comfortable… What a dreadful state of affairs.”

“It is. Perfectly terrible.” He drew Dorian closer, dropping kisses into his hair. “So sorry. I could be less comfortable, if that would help.”

“Sacrilege,” Dorian exhaled, wrapping an arm around his chest. “I can’t believe there are people here who find you  _ frightening _ . How silly.”

“I  _ am _ frightening,” Rilienus muttered against his scalp. “I’ve been frightening for years. Usually that crazed look does the trick.”

“What crazed look?” Dorian tilted his head up, chuckling. “I can’t say you’ve ever looked crazed  _ or _ frightening to me.”

Rilienus widened his eyes, baring his teeth.

“Sexy,” he laughed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m surprised you don’t have daily visitors slipping into your sanctum to try and rid you of your robes.”

“Hateful.” He sighed, “Positively hateful. I abhor you.”

“You’re adorable when you despise me.” Dorian kissed the tip of his nose. “I’d like to shrink you down and stick you in my pocket for whenever I’m feeling less than perfect. A couple of snarls and I’ll be right as rain again.”

“Oh, I’ll snarl,” he growled, snapping his teeth. “See if I don’t. ‘Put me in your pocket’. You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know. Then where will we be? Your adoring fans flocking to my door to weep. Mine tearing my robes off. An orgy of heartbreak.”

“Hopefully far from here.” Dorian caught his lips in a kiss, nibbling on his bottom lip. “You know, a proper orgy can be quite the source of entertainment.”

“Can it, indeed?” Rilienus purred as he smoothed his palm up Dorian’s side, shifting beneath him. “Educate me, oh, wise one.”

“Hmm… hard to demonstrate with just the two of us, no?” Dorian returned to his place at the curve of Rilienus’ shoulder. “Maybe one day.”

“I accept lectures, you know,” he sighed. “Alright. Go away. Go change yourself into a squid or something. I’m no good to you at the moment.”

“You’re very good to me,” Dorian nuzzled against his cheek. “But very well. I’ll get to work.” He tugged Rilienus tighter, making no obvious attempt to move from his place at his side.

“Dorian?”

He grinned up at him and a sharp crack echoed through the room, purple smoke replacing his form. It coalesced into a solid shape; glinting pupils ringed with silver appeared through the fog, staring at him. 

A sleek black cat stride out of the mist, kneading its paws on Rilienus’ shoulder, dipping to nuzzle against his chin. 

“You’re a challenge,” Rilienus chuckled softly, rubbing his fingers behind the cat’s ears.

Dorian turned his head to nibble on Rilienus’ fingertips, licking him with his rough tongue. He curled up again, in roughly the space he’d occupied as a human and, purring, closed his eyes.

“This is you practicing?” Rilienus asked, curiously. “I am positive we discussed slow transformations. Yet here you are, flash and puffs of smoke, like a mendicant.” He ran his fingers down the cat’s spine. “You’re so  _ soft _ .”

Dorian opened a single eye, before closing it again and tucking his head under a white-tipped paw. His purr sounded almost like his laugh, rumbling against Rilienus’ chest. Pretty, even like this, the smell of ozone permeating his fur and filling the room. 

The smell of him, she’d said. All his careful wards and resonance sweeps, he hadn’t thought of the simpler… He’d grown so used to that sweet smell, burying his face in Dorian’s belly or the curve of his neck or- Rilienus sighed, petting the smooth dark fur. They _were_ reckless,  _ both _ of them, and they’d gotten too close to being caught this time. Far, far too close. 

“Are you going to stay like that?” he asked quietly.

Dorian batted at his hand, pressing his cheek into it, mewling softly. Quicksilver and mischief in his eyes, even now, his tail flicking impatiently in the air.

“Dorian,” he sighed again, rubbing his knuckles beneath the cat’s chin. “I-“ he huffed. “Fine. Well done. Don’t fall asleep, though. I don’t want a pet.”

He bumped his nose against Rilienus’, transforming back with another thunderclap, looking between both of his eyes. “Managed to take my clothes with me that time. Been working on that.” Dorian nudged his nose.

“Shame,” he muttered under his breath. “Alright. Elfroot and prophet’s laurel coming up. If you’ll-“ Rilienus lifted a brow up at him. “Are you planning to keep sitting on me?”

“I am.” Dorian laughed, pinning his shoulders to the bed. “Do you want me to move? You have to ask nicely. Or… I also will consider bribes.”

“Bribes? I’m sorry- bribes? You are so deeply in my debt at this moment.” Rilienus squinted up at him. “So. Very. Deeply.”

“And yet…” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss him. “Alright, I’ll hear your request, first, before I make a decision as to the likelihood it’ll be fulfilled. Only because you’re so very handsome and so very comfortable.”

“I don’t feel very handsome,” Rilienus wrinkled his nose. “I feel like a chaise. A used, unwanted chaise. One of those awful ones with the dangling trim for no reason.”

“I rather like to be chased. By handsome princes, trapped in towers. Maybe that’ll get you somewhere.”

Challenging. Infuriating. Smirking down at him, awash in his own power, assured of his own victory. Chased? He wanted to be chased? “Get me somewhere?” he asked mildly. “I thought I was trapped. Wherever would I get to?” He glanced towards his desk, “Do you want your tonic or don’t you?”

“What a pitiable character I am; wilting for lack of romance.” Dorian sighed dramatically, draping himself across Rilienus’ body, tilting his hips against Rilienus’ thigh. “Nary a flower springing from my beloved’s fingers, or a song or a poem caressed by his lips. Gone are the days where I inspired quiet confessions of love in the moonlight—my youthful beauty hath been sundered by the march of time. Woe to the faded blossom, wrinkling and dying once plucked from the soil. There is no hope for one such as me; go, fair prince, I can bring you naught but sorrow.”

Rilienus rolled his eyes, finally losing his control over his laughter as he ruffled Dorian’s hair. “Poor tremulous necromancer,” he snorted. “Those orange blossoms yesterday already turned to ash in your hands, did they? Those poems you just held, gone from your mind as quickly as from your sight?” He shook his head. “‘He is a veiled one,’” he whispered, his smile growing wide and crooked. “‘But were he to pass in a darkness black as his forelock,’” he tugged at the curl at Dorian’s brow, “‘his blazing face would suffuse him light.’” [2]

“I am a vain and insatiable sort of creature; it’s true.” Dorian kissed him tenderly, rolling off of him with a sigh. “Tonic, and then we’ll see if I’ve it in me to elicit some begging.”

“Shall I make it with spirit wine?” he asked, rising after Dorian to tug him into the cradle of his arms, kissing the side of his neck, walking them the steps to the desk. “Or rose water?” He smoothed his fingers down Dorian’s chest. “Shall I pour petals over your head while you recline on your altar,  _ mon aube _ ?”

“I do so adore altars, and reclining.” Dorian grinned, hooking his leg around Rilienus’. “And I’d never turn down rose water.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Rilienus groaned against the back of his neck, rocking against him. “I love you in rose water and droplets of honeysuckle.” He nuzzled up into his hair, drawing the correspondence pocket open above his desk and plucking out what was needed for the tonic. “I love you in nothing at all. I love you.” He nipped at his skin, sprinkling herbs into wine, and guiding the goblet to Dorian’s lips. “Drink deep, my god, and let me worship you.”

“I’ve neglected you, haven’t I?” Dorian drained the glass completely, running a hand through his hair. “I believe it is I who promised to worship you, was it not?”

“Deities are fickle, everyone knows this,” Rilienus peeled Dorian’s robe from his shoulders, kissing down his spine. “A little human sacrifice and perhaps you’ll be inspired to do so again.”

“ _ Sacrifice _ ?” Dorian laughed. “No, no, my prince. If I’m a god, I’m most certainly a benevolent one. Unless you find pleasure to be some great ordeal. Strip off your vestments and I’ll show you how generous I can be towards my supplicants.”

“Everything with you is an ordeal,” he smirked, dragging his ‘vestments’ off with a flourish. “I am knighted ten times a day. But you know how I adore my trinkets and medals. It’s worth it.”

“You’re much more of a theologian than I.” Dorian knelt before him, running his fingers along Rilienus’ thighs. “Tell me, do you believe the Maker finds himself upon his knees as often as I do?”

“I should hope so, for Andraste’s sake,” Rilienus grinned down at him, cupping his cheek. “It’s alright, you know. I don’t mind bending in service to you. It’s my pleasure and privilege to do so.”

“Oh, that was never in question. If I ever had a single doubt, you quickly dispelled those.” Dorian laughed as he kissed where his hands had just trailed, coaxing him to fullness with his fingers. “You purr like a kitten lapping at a bowl of cream when your lips are around me. It’s a lovely sight.”

Rilienus breathed deep, combing Dorian’s hair back from his brow. “ _ You’re _ a lovely sight. And I am… an avid epicure when it comes to your particular cream.”

“Some of your particular turns of phrase make me question my judgment, Rilienus Maecilia.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “I think you might need to begin again with the wooing after that one.”

“Ah, you are delicious, though,” he chuckled. “The feel of your shaft under my lips as you tense and tense and  _ tense- _ and then that full flood that coats my tongue. Thick, salted, sliding down my throat, and I can smell it for an hour after, and feel it lingering heavy on the back of my tongue. You, inside of me, filling my senses, recalling the way you shouted my name or tore at my shoulders or  _ writhed-“ _ Rilienus stroked the back of his neck, stiffening in Dorian’s hand as he thought of it. “I very, very much enjoy the taste of you. I enjoy making you come. I enjoy taking you once I have.”

Dorian paused, looking up at him, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Is that so?” A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. “Pay no mind to me then,” he murmured, licking along his length. “I wouldn’t want to distract you from singing my praises.” Dorian’s eyes melted as he stared up, lips encircling him, sliding painfully slowly towards his pelvis, devilish, knowing smirk widening as he teased him with his tongue.

“I love the way you ride me when you’re still heavy-lidded and loose from pleasure,” Rilienus continued, quiet, guided by the look in those eyes and the hums that vibrated straight into his core. “I love the way you kiss me, still breathless, tasting yourself on my lips. I love you. I love-  _ kaffas _ , I love your mouth.” 

Dorian reached up and wiggled his fingers, gripping his ass and nudging his thighs further apart with his cheeks. “Do go on,” he murmured, releasing him with a soft pop, lips full and flushed from labor, damp and eager, rubbing along his length. “I’m enjoying your benediction,  _ mon rossignol _ . Such a pretty voice you have. I’d like to hear it go shrill for me.” The bloody bastard winked, taking him between his lips again, grinning as he coated his fingers and slipped them inside of Rilienus. “Hmm?” he asked, muffled, incomprehensible, raising his eyebrows and peering up at him. 

“ _ Festis bei umo canavarum, _ ” Rilienus gasped, catching himself on Dorian’s shoulder. Slick, reaching, wet, hot, velvet, more- He was seized with a sudden desire to thrust into that grinning mouth, to drive himself between Dorian’s lips and fingertips until he screamed as he’d been bidden. Maker and Bride, he wanted to lose himself to Dorian entirely, bask in his attention, melt and reform- He swayed, eyes rolling back, as Dorian flicked his finger and sent a pulse of stars racing across his vision. “You break me apart. You tear me asunder. You- and your mouth- and your hands- Dorian-“ He held himself as still as he could manage, breathing shallow, “Ah, Dorian-“ 

It was an effort to cradle his neck with a gentle hand. An effort to hold himself steady as he was plundered. A worthy effort, though - yes - He watched Dorian bob, luxuriating over his cock. The sheer glee in his gaze as he peered upwards. Beautiful. Visceral. And the peek of his tongue, pink against flushed lips and Rilienus’ shaft- He crooned softly, shuddering again as Dorian added another finger. And then another. “Dorian, please-” He squeezed Dorian’s shoulder as he felt his knees tremble. “Please- I want-” His head fell back on an unelicited cry as Dorian pressed hard to the seat of his nerves and instead of a spray of stars, he was doused in a sky-full. 

“Glorious.” Dorian licked his lips, pulling back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning. He pressed his forehead to Rilienus’ thigh, kissing him lightly before rising slowly to his feet. Dorian slipped his arms under Rilienus’ knees and lifted him over his shoulder, laughing lightly. “I love the sound of your voice ringing through this room.” He let him down gently on the bed, climbing atop Rilienus to kiss along his neck. “Think I might hear it again?”

Rilienus sank his fingers into Dorian’s hair, drawing him closer on a long, slow sigh. “Kiss me,” he hummed. He felt like he was humming. He could feel the lingering vibrations in his eyelids and the air was full of wisps. “I adore you.”

“And I you, my nightingale,” he murmured, dipping down to meet his lips. Bitter salt still thick on his tongue, Dorian’s lips parted eagerly for him, his hips rocking against Rilienus’ pelvis as he straddled him. “You’re immaculate,” Dorian breathed against his lips, beaming, radiant with mana and magelight and  _ love _ . He was sculpted from it, made to love and be loved; affection and caring spilled out into all Dorian did, who he was, and by the Maker’s light, he’d chosen to share it. With Rilienus, certainly, but with the rest of the world too; it spilled out and over him, thick like honey, imbuing the earth with a sweetness that wasn’t there before. Dorian’s eyes fluttered open when they parted for breath, pearlescent and gleaming for him.

For him. That look- That soft, pure longing look. Rilienus cupped his cheek, his heart aching in his chest as he basked in that warmth. A blazing face. An expression that shone brighter than any magelight. Fire and laughter and teasing, wrapped around that snap of vulnerability that sent shivers through Rilienus. Impossible. Wonderful and incredible and impossible, yet there he was. 

Here. And his. 

Rilienus lapped at Dorian’s lips, stretching beneath him, tracing the curve of his face. Him. His heart; his living, breathing, burning heart - fierce and alive in the world. “You’re a thousand stars and the veil of the moon,” he whispered, tucking Dorian’s hair back over his ear. He scraped his teeth over Dorian’s mustache above his lip and melted into his pillows, drawing his lover over him. “You’re wondrous.”

“You’re birdsong and falling blossoms and secrets lost in ancient libraries,” Dorian kissed him hard, catching his lip in his teeth and pulling gently. “When I’m with you, I feel like I’ve unearthed a hidden treasure and I’m biding my time to display it for the world to see.”

“Flattery,” Rilienus murmured, arching beneath him, smiling lazily. “I feast on it.” He rubbed his cheek to Dorian’s, tracing the muscles of his back with his fingertips. “And you. You make all of it bearable. You make the sun color and light instead of mere heat. You turn the days to bright hope and possibility, and the nights to the sweet, slick tangible of ink.”

“I hope that light never dims for you, my love.” Dorian slipped to his side, nuzzling against his shoulder, assuming almost exactly the same position he’d been before he’d shifted into his feline form. “Hold it close to your heart, no matter what comes. You deserve to feel sunlight against your skin.”

“I prefer you,” he murmured, sighing against the top of Dorian’s head. “My dawn. My bright star.” Rilienus tipped his lover’s chin up, thumbing the curve of his lips. “What would you have of me,  _ mon aube _ ? I would do anything you asked.”

“Let me take you, then,” Dorian exhaled, running a hand down the center of his chest. “Lie on your side and I’ll hold you.” He kissed his neck, caressing his jawline. “That’s what I’d like, if you’re amenable.”

Rilienus arched into the touch of his lips, shifting in the circle of his arms, and pressing back against him. The heat of him. Strength matching tenderness. This- to be held like this- night after night- The losses he’d suffered, the terrors, the gnawing emptiness; they never left, but their sting was weakened in Dorian’s presence, as though his love was ward enough to protect them both. Perhaps it was. 

Too close, his fear whispered close. Far too close today. 

He craned his neck to kiss Dorian, running his fingertips down his side to caress the slope of his thigh. “Amenable,” he agreed quietly.

Dorian held him tightly, sweat already beginning to bead and run from the press of their bodies. Whispering gentle words in his ear, switching seamlessly from Tevene to Orlesian to Common and back again. Kissing and nuzzling his neck and cheek and along the line of his ear. Languid and lethargic, as though it was an afterthought, Rilienus could feel the careful pressure of Dorian’s length as he entered him slowly, could hear Dorian’s quiet, involuntary gasp as he did.

“‘I love you,’” Dorian murmured, words halting as he slid deeper inside, breaths becoming ragged, “‘as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries the light of those flowers hidden, within itself,’” Dorian kissed his ear, caressed his shoulder, “‘and thanks to your love,’” Rilienus could feel his smile, could see it in his mind’s eye, “‘the tight aroma that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body.’” [3]

“‘I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow-’” Rilienus stretched in his arms, tangling their legs together, “‘-and the soul.’ Dorian,” he breathed, filled like air, like water, until he felt threadbare and simple. Simple, what a dream that was. To be nothing more than a garment for his lover’s body. To be able to fulfill his purpose of being close to him, with him, on him, over him, around him with no sideways looks or suspicious glances, no fear or hiding, just this- He reached back, brushing his knuckles to the small of Dorian’s back, sighing as he shifted closer- 

“Of course you’d know this one,” Dorian breathed, jubilant, tucking his cheek to rest against Rilienus’, his hands slipping to stroke his hip bones, sending pleased shivers down his spine. “‘So close,’” he whispered, turning to kiss his cheek tenderly, lips still damp and dewed. “‘So close, that your hand upon my chest is mine.’ I love you—“ Dorian moaned quietly, breeze ruffling his hair. “Ril, I love you.”

“I know,” Rilienus smiled, aching from the joy that spread like honey from Dorian’s fingertips, seeping into him drop by drop until they were both sticky and slow and amorphous and one- one- That Dorian’s hands could become his own- “I know- And it’s- ah- better every day- My love- My Dorian-“

“‘So close,’” Dorian nipped gently at his nose, laughter rolling through him, into Rilienus, like thunder shaking the sky apart, “‘that your eyes close with my dreams.’” He eased further inside, fully seating himself, still for a dozen breaths, arms a protective circle. “I dream of—“ Dorian tilted his chin to meet his lips, starting to move inside him, patient and relaxed, “lazy mornings- lounging at your side- afternoons reading, diving into the depths of the unknown- nights full of- passion and fury…” He glowed with relief, with pleasure, with uncontained happiness, as brilliant as the sun, hot as a forge. “My dreams—all of them—are of you,  _ mon rossignol _ .”

Sunsets and dawns, gilded light on his skin, the air melting on them like dripping honey- And how he ached for these languid moments, filled by him, held, kissed like warm rain, listening to poems he’d never heard and poems he knew by heart and the poetry of Dorian’s heartbeat against his back, Dorian’s breath against his lips and his neck and his shoulder- “Keep dreaming of me,  _ mon aube _ ,” he whispered, pleaded, arching to kiss and touch. “Keep dreaming, my Dorian, and we’ll find our way to make those dreams our lives. Someday. Someday soon, love.”

“Always,” Dorian sighed, rolling into him like a tide, inevitable, unending, rhythmic, leisurely. He rocked into him, unhurried, unpanicked, over and over, until they were both breathing heavily, clinging to each other, tangled bodies against sheets in disarray. And why should they race to the end? They had time. They had each other. They had a world they had built in a circle of stone, warded and protected and safe. They had a thousand hopes that they could cling to when they were apart. They had the strength in Dorian’s body and the tenacity of Rilienus’ spirit. There was nothing that could pull them apart, nothing that could tear them asunder, not notes found by little girls or rumors whispered by little boys or-

“Rilienus,” Dorian sang his name like a line of the Chant, worshipping him with his voice and his body and his arms and his- “Ril--” he gasped, the name Dorian had bestowed upon him, his light suffusing Rilienus’ essence, another blessing- “I’m-  _ kaffas _ , I’m going to-“

“Yes,” he moaned, already feeling Dorian beginning to shudder, to grasp as he gasped, fingers digging into Rilienus’ hips. That need. That power. That unsteady ricochet inside of him- then the blossom of wet heat and the rasp of pleasure against the back of his ear- A breath to breathe life, a swear like a sneeze- Rilienus grinned, clasping Dorian’s tensed cheek, pulling him closer as he poured himself deep. “I love you,” he breathed as he felt the slow, slick drip down Dorian’s length from him. “I love you,” he squeezed his flesh and turned his neck to kiss him, lingering against his lips. Time. Years. Endless nights like this ahead of them until they were free, then days of limitless seas and skies and dreams made real. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Arabic epigram by 8th century erotic poet Abu Nuwas, translated into French as well as ofta could manage  
> [2] Ibn al-Farid  
> [3] One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII, by Pablo Neruda, translated by Mark Eisner


	29. I will fly to thee (*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware! Smut and schmoopy love below. :)

##  Dorian

The world shifted, gentle kisses pressed to his cheek signaling the return of the sun to the horizon. Dorian groaned, burying his head against Rilienus’ shoulder. His lover was still tight around him, his body having realized it before his mind, stiffening with every twitch of their muscles. 

“That time again, I’m afraid,” Rilienus hummed, smiling, “I should’ve woken you sooner, but you’re wretched when deprived of your sleep.”

Dorian waved the curtains closed, blocking out some of the morning light. “It’s midnight, my love, what are you on about? We’ll stay here and I’ll make love to you for hours yet.”

A low, bright chuckle. A hitch of his hips. “Will you?” Rilienus rolled back against him, tugging Dorian’s arms around him tight like a sheet. “Minutes. You can have minutes. I love feeling you first thing.”

“Minutes that feel like hours and seconds at once,” Dorian breathed, slipping out only long enough to coat his length with slick again, before easing Rilienus onto his stomach and, with a gasp, entering him again. “I’m well aware,” he growled low against his ear, smiling widely. “You’re otherworldly in the mornings, my love.”

“I see you’ve woken up,” he laughed, grinning back over his shoulder as he braced, palms flattening the pillows, rocking back against Dorian. “Have we found the secret to the early riser in you finally?”

“How can I resist?” He nipped at Rilienus’ ear, driving into him on a low moan, his eyes forced shut from the sheer delicious  _ pressure _ . The smell of him filled his senses, ink and sweat and drying parchment and- “Unfair advantage. Completely unfair.”

“Using what the Maker blessed me with is unfair?” Rilienus’ hand slapped to his ass, squeezing, fingers stretching- stretching to brush down his cleft as his shoulders bunched. “ _ Kaffas _ , you’re Fadesent,” he grunted. “Ah, yes-“

“Blessed, yes,” Dorian tangled his fingers in Rilienus’ hair, tugging lightly on his curls. Compression, wet, warm, welcome, wondrous. “The Maker made us in his image to- fill each other with- the brilliance of- his Bride’s words— _ ah _ !” He gasped, biting down on Rilienus’ neck, driving into him, squeezing his shoulders and- “ _ Fuck _ , you’re so-“ he hummed, pleased, rocking against him, “so- so- so- so- blasted  _ good _ .”

Ril’s fingers dug into his flesh as he groaned, guttural, driving his face into the pillows as he thrust his hips back. Lost. Lost to him. Affirmations and Dorian’s name pouring, muffled, from his lips like a Chant. 

So beautiful, stretched out wantonly before him, the room filling with the quiet song of Rilienus’ voice, growing harsher and huskier with each roll of his hips. Dorian nipped at the tender skin along his shoulders, his skin turning red from the contact. “I love-“ he gasped, tightening, biting his lip to try and keep from- 

Rilienus rocked back against him with a low laugh and he was overcome, crying out his lover’s name in the tiny room that had started to feel like home.

“Stay,” Rilienus rasped, fumbling to grasp the back of Dorian’s thigh as he reached for himself. “Stay- I want to come with you inside of me-“ His hips rolled, shoulders tightening- and his body tightened around Dorian as he finished himself off and collapsed in a panting puddle beneath him. “Love you- I love you- I love you, Dorian-“

Dorian wrapped his arms around him, squeezing gently, all his tired muscles could bear. “Let’s just stay here, and damn them all.” He’d left purple marks along Rilienus’ neck and shoulders and he sighed, tracing them like constellations. “You’re very handsome, especially in the morning, my nightingale. How do I ever manage to bid you farewell?”

“I’m handsome all the time,” Rilienus mumbled into the pillow, then squinted back over his shoulder. “I’ll show you, if you like.” He smiled, lazy and pleased and rumpled and used. “Before lunch. And after dinner.” He sighed, fingers running up the side of Dorian’s thigh to his hip. “Comparative studies.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Dorian turned to his side, wrapping his legs around Rilienus and kissing his chin. “We’re off to a good start; perhaps we can break our record.”

“If you don’t manage to get distracted talking my ear off about transdimensional temporal correlations,” he chuckled, leaning into him to nibble at Dorian’s lips. “I think we very well might. It feels like one of those days.”

“I thought you found interdimensional travel and theoretical convergences intriguing! Just think of the possibilities…” Dorian laughed, nudging him with his nose. “Maybe there’s another one of me somewhere and you could have us both at once. Very,  _ very _ interesting.”

“Maker save us.” Rilienus licked his chin lightly. “You’re prickly. I like you prickly. If there were two of you, I would want one of you all sleepy-eyed and prickly while the other was chattering and smooth and sleek. You could take turns allowing me to rumple you. You know, I’m liking this idea more and more…”

“The rest of the world will get to see me prickly today,” Dorian hummed, rubbing his cheek against Rilienus’ neck. “I doubt I’ll have time to shave after our morning activities…”

“Get out,” Rilienus shoved at him pitifully, only succeeding in pulling him closer to sigh against his temple. “How am I supposed to resist you?”

“You’re not  _ supposed _ to resist me. I’m a delight.” Dorian climbed atop him, wrapping himself more snugly. “Make up some fanciful excuse for the Praeceptor and confine me to your rooms all day. You had to inspect me for… contraband. Unfortunately your thorough search yielded no results, so you’ll need to try again tomorrow.”

“And the day after that?” he laughed, skimming his hands up Dorian’s chest. “You’re a thief, for certain. You’ve stolen my heart and I must get it back.”

“No, no, you mustn’t!” Dorian swatted his hands away playfully, grabbing them in his own. “It’s mine, mine now, mine forever. I’ve locked it away and I won’t give it up! Not for all the gold in Minrathous or the finest spirit wine or the most immaculate gemstones. I’ve tucked it in with my hoard and you’ll never find it again.”

“Your hoard?” Those warm, glimmering emeralds widened in playful horror. “I knew it! Not only a thief, but a dragon as well! A pirate king dragon thief! Oh, woe is me!” He thrust his hands above his head, drawing Dorian down to him. “A great battle will be fought today, dragon. In the empty corners and hidden shadows of this tower. And I will slay you.” He nipped at his cheek. “And impale you.” He hummed against his jaw, kissing him, “Until you have no choice but to surrender to me entirely.”

“Oho! A bold and confident prince.” Dorian narrowed his eyes, staring at him. “I’ll warn you, my liege, many have tried, and all have failed.” A laugh broke loose from his chest, rolling through his body like thunder. “But I suppose there is a first time for everything. And you are so very, very handsome. Mayhaps I’ll be inclined to give you a victory.”

“One can only hope,” Rilienus thumbed his lips, soft and sideways smiling. “I suppose only time will tell.”

“Before lunch then, my valiant prince?” Dorian kissed his fingertips, stretching his neck and arms lazily, rising slowly. “Before lunch and after dinner and then all evening for good measure?”

“Mmhmm,” Rilienus followed him as he stood, nibbling at his tailbone. “It’s one of those days,” he repeated, “that I don’t think I’m going to get my fill of you. A prolonged, desperate battle between prince and dragon king, I think.”

Dorian laughed, cupping his cheek to kiss him once more before donning his robe, slinging his satchel over his shoulder, and striding merrily towards the portal in the wall. “Long, desperate, and heated, one can only hope.” He winked, waving, already missing the press of him, the laughter, the comforting warmth, the sparkle of those glittering eyes. “Until then, my love.”

“Don’t be late to prayers,” Rilienus winked at him, rolling out of bed to scrounge for fresh robes. “I’ll see you soon.”

Dorian forced himself away from his lover’s lithe body, gentle kisses, and clever retorts. Each day was a little harder to leave the tower than the last. The Order had him sitting on needles, never quite comfortable again until he could slip through the portal and back into Rilienus’ warm and waiting arms. 


	30. Youth grows pale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, graphic (but canon compliant) descriptions of violence and injury follow.

## Dorian 

He’d almost forgotten about the previous afternoon’s ordeals when he saw Lethina at breakfast, her eyes carefully lined with kohl, but red-tinged. Dorian found a seat several tables away, to give her space. 

She’d acted mad the night before, threatening and wailing and- for what? He wanted to apologize, but wasn’t sure what he was sorry _for,_ other than simply not speaking sooner. Erratic. The alcohol should’ve been out of her system by the evening; that couldn’t be an excuse.

She’d get over him soon enough; Erend was already sitting closely, joking and trying to bring back her smile. It was for the best that she didn’t set her hopes upon whatever it had been she wanted. 

A marriage? Her father was a well-respected Laetan craftsman, and he’d no doubt be pleased if his daughter managed to wed an Altus. There were _plenty_ of Altus mages even here, though, that-

His eyes caught Rilienus’ from across the hall, just for a fraction of a second. Elevated, as he should be. He wondered whether anyone else here had ever seen Rilienus smile, heard the song of his laughter, heard the most dreadful jokes spill forth from his mouth as Dorian had in the past ten weeks. His parents. His parents would’ve. Other than that, he might be the only person who could paint the shade of Rilienus’ eyes from memory, map the freckles on his shoulders, know the feel of his curls and-

Blight, he’d been staring again. He turned back towards his plate and stabbed a grape with his fork, spraying juice across the empty table. Dorian kept his eyes down and voice silent for the rest of the meal, for fear of temptation.

The bell rang through marble and stone, signaling the end of the meal. The professors filed out first, then the prefects, and finally the lesser students. He watched the swish of Rilienus’ robe as he passed and felt a weight of several ripe strawberries drop into his pocket; they had only been served to the head table.

He smiled slightly to himself, bowing his head to no one in particular, and slipped out of the room towards the outdoor pool.

This season it had seen much less use than the last; with the near constant drizzle, many of the students had taken to studying in the library or wandering the indoor halls. It had never mattered much to Dorian whether the sun was shining; the entire purpose of swimming was to get wet. If the sky wished to help with that endeavor, so much the better. He changed quickly and dove into the empty pool, thankful for the blessed minutes alone. They were never as satisfying as those spent in the warded tower, but it was a relief still to not worry about wandering eyes.

He skimmed into the water, losing himself to the pull of muscles and the rhythm of breath, the rolling undulations of the lap pool reminding him of the steady pulse of two bodies becoming one. 

Rilienus brought complex shades into a world that had always seemed warm, but sepia. Purples and blues and greens, the feathers of a hummingbird feeding on a winter orchid, raindrops collecting and gliding off its feathers. Beautiful and full of possibilities, an entire spectrum that encased the world in light and laughter and-

He heard the bell ringing muddled, through the water’s surface. Arms up on the ridge, he vaulted himself up out of the pool, onto the soaked paving stones, stepping carefully to avoid falling. 

A heavy-handed clap sounded from the benches where Rilienus used to sit and pretend not to watch him, when Dorian wore the Eye.

He turned with a start to see the curling, carnivorous smile of Heritia; his russet brown hair was finally evening out after Dorian’s first encounter with him had singed half of it away.

“Good form, Pavus,” Heritia called, still clapping, his eyes wide, almost crazed, as he stood from the benches, walking towards him. “Quite the athlete. You’ve so many skills; I feel I keep finding more and more of them as time passes.”

Dorian turned, rolling his eyes, heading towards where he’d stowed his satchel. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? I’ve got quarterstaves and as much as I’d love to give you a swimming lesson, I simply don’t have the time.”

A hiss from the other side of the pool. “Dueling. Swimming. History.” Heritia’s voice was sickly sweet, menacing despite his tone. “Blood magic?”

“Hmm?” Dorian turned towards him, raising a brow. “I don’t have any idea to what you’re referring. Now, if you’d kindly be on your way-”

“No posse. No prefects. No protection, this time, Pavus.” Heritia smiled again, clapping once more, the sound echoing against the marble. “I wonder, are you pulling their strings like you were pulling mine? Not that it matters.” His teeth were bright white, gleaming like the wet marble at their feet. “Kill the mage and the magic founders. Isn’t that right, boys?”

Too late, he realized the echoing claps had been to cover the sound of footsteps. Three more of them. Blue-bands. Malevolent, grinning wastrels. 

“Again, I don’t _know_ what you’re talking about.” Dorian scowled, his staff flying through the air into his outstretched hand. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” He tensed his fingers against the carved wood. Four. Four on one, and Heritia meant to- He couldn’t be serious, and yet, that glint in his eyes…

“You think you can break me? Ah?” Heritia laughed wildly. “With dreams? With a few shakes?” He tossed a scrap of cloth at Dorian’s feet. “Fuck you and your father’s cloak that you rode in on. Maleficar. The Lady’s got a special burning place for you.”

Carefully embroidered silk, threads as thin as a hair, thinner in places, painstakingly woven. 

“Should have left off at the bugs,” he cackled, itching at his arms as the others came closer. “Maybe I wouldn’t have found it. But you pushed- too- far-“

Dorian snapped and the fabric burst into flame at his feet. 

Not his. It wouldn’t be his resonance on that cloth if anyone had cared to look. What had Rilienus been up to? 

It didn’t matter, not anymore. He couldn’t let anyone smarter than Heritia discover it.

“And now you intend to exact your revenge?” Dorian tutted, shaking his head. “Should’ve brought more men.” He tilted his staff sharply and the door blew off its hinges, two of the blue-bands ducking to avoid the splintering wood. With a sharp crack, Dorian transformed into a hawk and flew towards the clouds, away from the shouting men below.

As he crossed the line of the rooftop, something tugged at his wings and he had to flap them harder and harder to overcome its pull. One of them hadn’t been fooled by his distraction. He wriggled in the force’s grip as he was dragged back down to the ground. For a moment, Dorian felt as though he was melting, and then his wings and feathers were gone; hollow bones growing and becoming solid. He was falling, falling, roughly through the air, too disoriented from being snapped out of his form to do anything more than extend his arm to try and catch himself.

He heard the horrible snap as he landed, pain following shortly after, making his eyes cross and the world turn white. A voice raised an unearthly screech, almost avian, disembodied and- he clutched his limp wrist, trying to ease his breathing, open his eyes, but the _sound_ was threatening to drive him insane and- 

_Kaffas_ , it was _him_. He gasped, biting his lip until it bled to keep from calling out, standing up slowly, his legs shaking.

The stones buckled under his feet with a crack, spilling him forward to skid across glass-sharp shards of marble. “You thought you could waltz in here and break me?” Heritia kicked him hard, sending him rolling. “I’ll fucking end you.”

Dorian grunted, inhaling sharply, lifting the palm of his unbroken arm and raising himself into the air, away from Heritia and the rapidly approaching blue-bands. He flicked his wrist and a wave of force knocked one of the men into the pool as he called lightning to its surface and across the wet tiles, the bright white surge arcing through the air and leaving behind the hum of ozone.

He fell backwards, onto a bush, still wobbly from the transformation, already throwing up a shield to protect against the inevitable attack. Focus- He had to focus- He’d never fought so many bloody casters before-

The branches of the bush wrapped around his wrists, curling out around his middle, leaves sliding against his skin as one of the blue bands muttered from the pool. Heritia spun his staff, whipping the air into arcs of flame as one of his cronies knelt, pouring mana into barriers for the others. The fourth was stalking close to Heritia, like a dog. A pack of them. All snarling. 

Dorian winced at the thorns dug into his skin and the branch twisted his broken arm. He exhaled, blowing a wave of ice towards the pool, freezing the man bobbing in the water, dropping him to the bottom like a stone. He struggled to loosen the vines, gripping his right arm with his left, and scrambled from the brush.

The marble bucked under his feet again, throwing him face first into the retaining wall, as a series of lances crashed into his back and past his shoulders. Ice and fire, both burning, spreading like oil across his skin. Then the wall shuddered, folding, bricks like chains tightening around him-

Shield, shield, he needed a Blighted shield- The beautiful sparkling weave of Rilienus’ silken shield sprung to life, knitting itself around his flesh, dulling the searing pain and infusing him with much-needed mana. He blew apart the wall, running, sending bolts of lightning bouncing haphazardly through the room as he tried to make his way toward the rubble of the open door.

Only the heavy oak panels he’d blown off their hinges were flying right at him, closing on either side of him, pressing him between them- His shield resisted the rough of the wood, it poured mana into him from the pressure, but the pressure- the pressure- He couldn’t breathe- 

And Heritia was _laughing_. “Not so tough now, are you, Pavus?” 

The stones beneath his feet cracked open and climbed up around his ankles like sharp-clawed monsters. 

Dorian writhed, his arm pulsing, sharp pain radiating out, through his shoulder, dulling his senses. He closed his eyes—his vision was fading anyway—and channeled some of that energy to turn the wood to cinders. Gasping, he wriggled in the earth’s hold, turning the raindrops into razor-sharp hailstones as he tried to pull his feet from their trap.

He turned the stone into sand around his ankles, and he was running again, slipping on wet tiles, another screech as he landed on his right side. Dorian could feel where the bone was loose, broken, threatening to tear through his skin with just a touch of force. The door frame was only a few lengths away, close enough that he could run and-

The air solidified around him, thick, pushing at him as he tried desperately to move through it. It was viscous in his throat, filling his lungs, his nose, heavy and hot, a wave rolling over and through him- 

Dorian gagged, shaking his head, trying to cut through the air with a water lance, to dispel it, to burn it away, but it wouldn’t budge. He looked around wildly and leapt into the pool, his lungs screaming for air.

Fear. Fear started to set in, deep in his bones, as he swam one-armed to the other side of the pool, keeping his head underwater for as long as he could manage.

The water still sizzled with his magic, raking at his barrier. Every stroke tore at his bones, dragging at the breaks. Beneath him, one of the blue bands was still pouring sputtering flames and thrums of force at his friend encased in ice at the bottom of the pool. Then he couldn’t see- couldn’t think- as force crushed around him like a fist and tore him up and out of the water, catapulting him back onto the shattered tiles. 

He couldn’t catch his breath, even out of the water, out of the thickened air, and his head began to pound as his vision blurred. A deep, sharp pain at every inhale, every exhale, as he stared wildly at Heritia, stepping towards him. 

Too many. There were too many. Too damned many. Heritia’s eyes were bloodshot, almost all pupil, small, partially recovered scratches covering his face, his arms, his legs. The tiles grew, morphing around Dorian’s body, pinning him in place, holding him like a vice even as he tried to pull away. The shield that covered him finally winked out and he was being stabbed by marble, growing into him like vines into a tree.

“He’s hurt-“ he heard dimly.

“Get him to the healer then.”

“Heritia,” a low voice. “You made your point. We don’t have to-“

“Wrest said we could kill blood mages, no question. This one is mine. If you’re afraid, you can fuck off.” Heritia’s face swam above Dorian, tight and wild, “I’m going to be the last thing you see, you piece of shit.”

“Not a pretty sight,” Dorian spat, blood landing heavily on the ground. “I must’ve really pissed off the Maker if I’m going to his side recalling your nasty complexion. I’ll make sure to haunt you. Nightmares for all eternity.”

Heritia just laughed, pulling out a knife he’d hidden inside of his robes and pressing it to Dorian’s forehead. His breath reeked of lyrium and alcohol and his clothes smelled like sweat and piss. “Everyone will see your corpse and know you for what you are, _maleficar_. I’ll see to it.”

Dorian’s vision blurred as the knife carved downward through the thin flesh along his forehead. His shouts echoed through broken tile until finally, the world tilted and went black.


	31. thy high requiem become a sod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood magic and graphic injury below

## Dorian

He roused to the sound of high pitched keening and the scent of copper- Pressure on his chest- Singing? Chanting- Some liquid, dripping chant where none of the words made any sense-

He could feel himself trying to scream, but there was no sound coming out. Only that far away pitch and the song that was winding around him like warm velvet. The dark receded through shuddering, twisting lenses. 

Above him, lips moving ceaselessly, rusting red spread across a bearded cheek. The glass- No- ice- hail- melting under his back. Bones were churning, crunching as they twisted in his arm- in his chest- Dorian coughed, spitting out the blood that was filling his mouth. 

His vision refused to focus and he closed his eyes again, letting the sound wash over him in waves, focusing on the melody rather than the excruciating knitting of his bones. He was completely drenched, in rain and blood and sweat and tears and pool water, and he could feel a warm breeze against skin covered only by the thin cloth he’d worn swimming a lifetime ago. Dorian’s head sagged, but he fought to stay awake, chin dipping and rising again with the struggle to remain conscious.

“Don’t move,” a choked whisper above him. “Don’t move. I’ve got you, love. Just stay with me.”

He coughed again; every breath felt like fire pouring down his lungs. “The Void sure fucking _hurts_.” Dorian could scarcely recognize the harsh wheeze as his own voice. He spat again, a tooth wiggling loose from his gums, more blood following it. “You don’t sound like Andraste.”

A wet laugh, then the voice hardened, “You stay where I put you.” The keening returned. As did the chanting. 

“Ril?” Dorian croaked, “is it really you?”

The chant broke long enough for a whistle; a swath of warmth flowed over him, shielding him from the rain and cold. “Lie still, love. Lie still and let me make it better-“

“I’ll wait for you,” Dorian whispered, his chest burning with every word, halting and stuttering as he spoke. “I won’t cross to the Void until you’re good and ready. So don’t rush, _amatus_. I’ll be there.”

“No,” Rilienus snarled. “You stay _here_. _Salus_ , I call. _Salus_ , from death, from wound. Sain of the three sains. Sain of the five sains-“ His voice pitched lower and lower until it rumbled like distant thunder. “Grant us eyes to pierce the darkness and souls to bear the wounds of your labyrinths. Sain of the seven sains, from the crown to the soles. Stars and fathers, blood and offering, unto thee. Be the helmet of salvation upon this head- Razikale- Daughter of Night, She who winds the skein of wisdom-“ 

“Ril?” His breathing eased, the trickle of blood down his face and from his hand and in his mouth began to slow. Dorian coughed again, the pain less of a stab and more a dull ache covering the entirety of his body. His arm- he moved his wrist gingerly and it didn’t make him feel like he was about to retch on the marble. “Rilienus, what-“ Dorian opened his eyes, his sight clear enough to not send him reeling. “Ril, what did you-“

A cloak of tangible shadows clung to Rilienus’ body, his hands a dark garish red, soaked and dripping, pressing his wadded robes to Dorian’s chest, one arm outstretched, wreathed in a twisting chain of wet crimson threads.

“Ril, what are you-“ Dorian stared between his bloodstained hands and his lover’s eyes, a deep feeling of dread setting root in his core. “Rilienus, please tell me that’s not your blood- Gods, what are you _doing_?”

Rilienus pressed Dorian to the ground as his voice descended further and further, swallowed by the darkness that was gathering around him- and that was when Dorian saw the threads pouring towards his fingertips from- 

Heritia was kneeling a few feet away, his lips moving in sync with Rilienus’, and the pitched noise that had been grating at Dorian’s ears was escaping him as he held his own dagger pressed into his stomach. Every droplet of blood lifted from him, trickling across the space between and disappearing into the tumbling fist of dark smoke thickening around Rilienus’ hand.

“Rilienus—“ Dorian twisted under his hand, gripping it in both of his, his eyes widening in terror. “Ril, stop this. Stop it now, before it’s too late. Gods, what have you-“

The emeralds that had gleamed so gentle and soft only hours before in the morning light were shadowed now- intent on something only Rilienus could see; kohl, tears, and blood streaked down his face as he whispered on and on, his sounds swallowed by the shadows he’d summoned.

“Ril!” Dorian shook his arm, trying to rouse him, but he didn’t respond, didn’t speak to him, only continued to fill the room with that quiet, ethereal, haunting voice. “Ril, come back to me; it’s not worth it- _gods_ , please, don’t- _Rilienus_ , Maker, please-“ Heritia’s whine thickened into a gurgle, and as it did, Dorian felt a rush of energy flood through him. He could breathe without pain, sweet, fresh air scented with copper, flowing free. He peeled the blood soaked robes aside, staring as the hole in his chest sealed itself before his eyes. “Ril-“

Heritia swayed, moaning weakly as he wilted, slumping to the ground. 

“What’s going on here?”

“Professor,” Dorian called weakly at the familiar voice. He tried to lift his head from the ground, but it was still heavy. Rilienus wasn’t meeting his eyes, gazing past him, still whispering his chant, even as Heritia lay dying. “He was trying to save me-” Dorian shook Rilienus again, but there was no response, energy still flowing from Heritia’s body into his hands. “Ril, please-”

Kailish flew across the room, kneeling at Rilienus’ side, pressing a thumb to his forehead and closing his eyes. The dark shadows thickened, then dissipated, Ril’s pupils shrinking as Kailish pressed against his skin.

Rilienus blinked, looking down at Dorian, prone before him, and down at his own hands, dripping with blood. Dorian wanted to scream, to tug him back into his arms, to sob, to- Did he really mean to kill Heritia to try to bring him back? 

“Maecilia,” Kailish dragged him to his feet. “ _Enough_. You’ve done enough. Clean the blood off yourself, grab anything of Pavus’ that might leave a resonance, go to your room, and wipe it all clean. He’s going to be searched.” 

Rilienus didn’t move, staring down at him. Dorian felt the sting of tears blooming behind his eyelids as he looked up at his love, being forced away from him towards an uncertain future. 

“Go, you fool! The healers and the Praeceptor are on their way.” Kailish hissed, moving to Heritia’s side, trying to staunch the bleeding from the wound in his stomach. “You cannot be here when they arrive. You can return his things once they’ve finished with their investigation. _Go_.” 

“Dorian-“ he croaked, staring at his hands, at the wadded robe, at the wash of fresh blood over Dorian’s chest and the wound that was no longer there.

“Listen to him, Ril,” Dorian whispered, his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears. He slipped the rings from his fingers, handing him a pile of gold and gemstones, and unclasped the amulet around his neck and shoved it into Rilienus’ hands. “Get out of here.”

“ _Now_ ,” Kailish shouted, not looking up from the place where Heritia lay, unmoving. “Or nothing I say will be able to save you.”

He went, stumbling with stilted movements, shoving Dorian’s things into his pockets and running for his robes to pat down the pockets and search his satchel. The sound of approaching footsteps and he turned with one last look towards Dorian before he disappeared into shadows. 

“Sleep, Dorian,” Kailish murmured, waving a hand. His eyelids drooped, feeling impossibly heavy as the room filled with quick, clipped shouts and strange hands levitated him from his place on the floor.


	32. Fled is that music:

## Dorian

There were two sconces, emitting diffuse, golden magelight. One high, warded window. A heavy wooden door. A four-poster with a mattress that hadn’t been changed in a few decades. Seven books, one being a transcription of the Chant of Light, five textbooks, and a poorly written morality play that Dorian had read a dozen times out of sheer boredom. 

There were eight lines etched on the wall, one for every day that Dorian had been cognizant of the passage of time. The first bit, he’d been too hazy to notice, asleep more often than he was awake, drifting in and out of consciousness as the healers fussed with him. 

As he began to regain his faculties, healers visited less often until, finally, his only guests were the servants who brought his meals and emptied his chamber pot and a slender blonde healer who saw him once a day. None of them spoke to him about anything going on outside his room, despite his repeated attempts.

He tried to settle into a routine within the beige room where nothing changed except the number of lines on the wall, the light from outside, and the brooch the healer wore when she took his vital signs. The bells rang loudly enough that he could hear them and Dorian followed their schedule as best he could. Meditation. Simple physical exercises against the floor and the walls. Reading the texts from his classes until he’d practically memorized them. Eating slowly to take up as much time as he possibly could.

Anything. Anything to keep his mind off of the scene in the courtyard, Heritia’s mad gaze, Ril’s ritual, his attacker slumping to the ground.

There had been a hole in his chest, a stab wound from Heritia’s dagger after he’d fallen unconscious? A broken arm. Slices on his face and hands and arms and legs from broken tile and thorns. Burns, both fire and ice. Strained or broken ribs, from that damned door Heritia had compressed him with. Possibly a collapsed lung. Almost certainly a concussion. Internal bleeding. 

Even with his wards, with Rilienus’ shield, he should’ve been dead. He’d seen the blood on the ground. Some of it hadn’t been his, but even so—

Rilienus doomed him and saved him and doomed him again. Brave and valiant and terrifying and stupid. _Reckless_. 

And what had he done to get Heritia to stab himself? To comply so readily, almost happily, with his plan?

The answer was obvious, but- if he could do that, what else could he do? _Would_ he do?

Kill to keep them safe, or at least come damned close to it. He’d demonstrated that much. 

He’d seen into Rilienus’ essence, felt the source of his power, the woven threads of life he called forth at will. Loved him. Loved the sight of his smile and the sound of his laugh and the furrowing of his brow when they debated and- 

He’d _saved_ him. Rilienus had saved him. There was no question of that. Dorian tried to feel relief or gratitude—anything, other than the swelling surge of disappointment, of fear, of _anger_ —but they were dwarfed by the sight of Rilienus cloaked in black, making an offering of someone else’s life to a dead god to bring breath back into his body.

And yet, a part of him wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms, to weep himself dry against a man who loved him enough to risk everything to bring him from the brink. 

Had he been caught? Had Kailish managed to cover for him? Was he alive, waiting? 

Was Heritia?

Would Dorian be, after the Praetor and the Praeceptor made their decision with regards to his certain punishment? 

For defending himself. For protecting Ril. For nearly dying at the hands of a madman.

“Good, you’re awake,” Kailish muttered without ceremony as he stepped through the door. He lifted a set of textbooks. “I thought you could do with some extra reading materials.” He rested them on the nightstand, rearranging them so that a piece of paper rested atop the books. “How are you feeling? The healers say you’re back to your old self again. That’s good news.”

Dorian stood from the bed, straightening immediately and crossing to him. “Why am I here? What are they saying of me?”

Kailish glanced towards the paper, lifting a brow. “They want to ask you some questions tomorrow about what exactly happened, but that will be tomorrow. For now, let’s be glad that you’re well. You are well, yes? No lingering aches or pains? You should let the healers know if anything is at all out of sorts.”

Dorian frowned, looking around the room. Listening. Someone could be listening. Was that why he was being so cautious? He bit his lip, leaving his questions about Rilienus unspoken. “It’s almost as though I was never injured at all. A nightmare, no more. But I _was_ , wasn’t I? It _happened_. I shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Kailish murmured. “You shouldn’t. Lucky that the healers were able to get to you in time.” He looked around the room. “Bland little corner, isn’t it? Supposed to be soothing, but I find it dull.”

He nodded, picking up the slip of paper. “Scarcely anything to do but sleep and reread the same books full of material I’ve already learned. Maddening.”

“I can imagine. Thus- new books and a list of what you’ve missed in your classes.” He tapped the paper in Dorian’s hands and the ink shifted, rearranging itself on the parchment. “Don’t let it alarm you. We moved rather quickly, but you’ll catch up.” 

_The boy is dead,_ the ink spelled across the page. _They will interrogate you and then remove the memories of the entire event from your mind. You need to leave before they do. Tonight during prayers. Key is in Thaumaturgy. Map as well._

“Any questions?” he asked, studying him. 

Dead? Dead? Heritia had been breathing when he’d seen him last. Barely, but-

 _Dead_?

“Are my friends well?” Dorian said quietly, his mouth dry, jaw tight. “It has gotten rather lonely in here.”

“They are. I’m certain they’ll see you once you’re out,” Kailish lifted a brow. “And you’ll have the opportunity to answer all their questions.”

“I suppose I shall,” he murmured in agreement. “And they’ll be able to answer mine. Thank you, professor.” 

When Kailish left again, returning him to his isolation, Dorian slumped on his bed. He shivered, scrubbing his hands through the short beard that had grown in his confinement. 

Heritia was dead. Heritia was dead and they didn’t know about Rilienus, if Kailish’s answer could be trusted. Then the Praetor must think it had been Dorian who cast the curse that took his enemy’s life. But… only erasing his memory? For a murderer and maleficar? It seemed a rather light punishment for all of that. Probably a result of his father’s deal with the Praeceptor and position in the Magisterium.

But if someone poked about in his mind, it was possible they’d see traces of the truth. And Rilienus had no shield to protect him; indeed, his uncle would quietly revel in his demise. So there was one choice: Dorian had to disappear before they had the chance to learn what had happened. Run, and trust that Rilienus could keep himself safe and free from suspicion.

He’d _killed_ someone. Killed them to save Dorian. The look in his eyes when he’d called upon Razikale to heal the unhealable. The look in his eyes when Dorian sent him running back towards the dormitories. 

And Dorian might never get to see him again. Never ask why he’d put the curse on Heritia in the first place. How he’d known to find him. How he’d known that invocation that had saved his life. Whether-

He would take the fall for Rilienus. To keep him safe. Anything to keep him safe. And he still-

He still loved him; he could feel that swell underneath the disappointment and terror. To keep him safe. To keep him safe and breathing. 

Rilienus, swathed in dawn light, peering over a city he’d not stepped in for a decade. Kissing him breathless what felt like decades ago. Holding him every night, looking at him like he was special, touching him like he _meant_ something.

It was good he’d leave tonight. Good for him to escape before he saw the sorrow in those beautiful green eyes. Otherwise he’d never be able to cross the threshold, and then they’d both be doomed.

## Rilienus 

Days that felt like decades. Standing every morning in the Praeceptor’s office for new assignments, biting his tongue to keep from asking- There wasn’t a way to ask without exposing himself. There wasn’t a way to get the answers he needed from anyone. Anyone. 

His gaze strayed towards the Chantry and the healers’ garden beyond it. Dorian had to be there. He had to be there and alive if Kailish’s movements were anything to go by. Not that he trusted the professor as far as he could toss a brick, but Rilienus was still walking, still in his robes and medals, still unbound - which meant Kailish had not turned him in. 

What was his game? What was he after? 

Rilienus ducked around the back of the Chantry as the professor passed on his way towards the upper courtyard. Shadows and corners where the stone was hot from the afternoon sun. It took time- time he couldn’t afford to waste- digging through the desk in Ghina’s office for the key to the reflection room, and that was after searching through the records to find out where the Void they'd put him. 

More than a week. More than a week, but he had a name in a ledger and a room and a key and he’d damn well see Dorian no matter what. 

He slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind him, turning the lock and tracing the outline of his lover’s head with his eyes. Upright. Upright and alive and- “Dorian,” he whispered, the name escaping his lips like a held breath. 

He looked up sharply, pulling his face from where it rested in his palms, meeting Rilienus’ gaze with wide-eyed horror as he shook his head vehemently, then tugged at his ear.

His ear… Rilienus unwound the silencing ward from his wrist and hummed it to life, resting it on the end of the bed.

“What in the Maker’s name do you think you’re doing?” Dorian whispered, clipped, his brow furrowing. “You can’t _be_ here.”

“I had to see you. They weren’t telling us anything. Not even the prefects,” he reached for Dorian’s face and touched air as Dorian jerked back. He could still remember the blood dripping down his cheek from the carving in his brow. Could still smell the blood, so much blood- “It’s alright. No one saw me.”

“It’s not fucking _alright_ ,” Dorian spat, shaking his head again, moving closer to the headboard. “You can’t _be_ here, Ril. Heritia is dead and they think I killed him. And if you’re here and someone finds out, they’ll-”

“You didn’t kill him.” He looked down, thinking. So Heritia _was_ dead; good fucking riddance. He tried to ignore the twist in his stomach and the matching fire in his heart. “You didn’t. It doesn’t matter. We’ll find a way to get you out of here. No one knows what happened. They quarantined the blue bands who were saying that they did. Everyone thinks he’s alive. That it was a duel gone wrong. It’s fine. They won’t risk the reputation of the Order if they can help it. We’ll find a way through this-“

“Is it ‘we’ now?” Dorian exhaled, looking up at him. “Did ‘we’ decide to drive an obviously unstable man insane? I must have missed the vote on that one.”

“Drive- what?” Rilienus tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think he tried to kill me?” Dorian clutched his fist in his lap. “He found a lovely bit of embroidery in his chambers.”

Cold. Cold where the twisting dark was already twining around his entrails. “That-“ He frowned. “He _hurt_ you,” he whispered. “Again and again. Was I supposed to do nothing?”

“Were you supposed to _kill_ him?”

“I took from him what he took from you; no more, no less. The scales rebalance.” Why was the air so thick? He reached for Dorian again and stopped when he shifted away again, looking between his fingers and Dorian’s eyes. “He reaped what he sewed. I don’t regret it.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Dorian’s gaze was piercing, painful, his eyes forged steel. “Is this what you wanted?”

“I wanted you to live,” Rilienus shook his head. Why was that so hard to understand? “And you have. Now it’s a matter of keeping you whole. We can do that. There are wards and rituals of protection. I can-“

“No,” he said quietly. “No. No wards. No bloody _rituals_ .” Dorian took his hand, finally, staring at it. “I love you. I _loved_ you. But I can’t see your face- can’t even think your _name_ \- without seeing your eyes covered in shadow and a man slumping to the ground by his own hand. I don’t know if that’s something that can be overcome. I don’t know if I want to overcome it.”

Rilienus stared, squeezing his hand. “That’s- That’s fine. That’s- You’ve been through a lot. You- Let’s focus on getting you back amongst the rabble and then you can- We can work through this-“

Dorian took his hand back, resting it in his lap. “There’s no time. I’m leaving tonight.”

Rilienus flexed his hand on the air, “I can make them talk. I can make the blue-bands admit he planned to kill you. I can get you out of this. I swear, I can. You don’t have to- You-“ 

Unless Dorian wanted to. 

He pressed his lips together. 

Unless Dorian wanted to. And if he could- if he could, then why shouldn’t he? Loved. The word jangled, restless, in the back of his mind. So much packed into one changed tense. “...you’ll need your things,” he whispered. “Do you have a place for them?”

He nodded slowly, as though the motion pained him. “Don’t make anyone talk. If I vanish, the problem goes with me. I will not have you risk anything else for me.”

“That’s my choice, Dorian. If you think your leaving is any benefit to me, you’re wrong.” Rilienus knelt, peering up at him. “Is that- I won’t try to stop you if this is what you want, what you need, but don’t- don’t- don’t think that it’s what I- what I would- What’s life without risk?”

Dorian swallowed, staring at the thin sheets, running his fingers along the threadbare fabric. “Go. You have to go. Before they find you here. They’ll-“ He looked up, his eyes shining. “Be safe, my sweet prince. Don’t die for anything not worth dying for.”

“ _You_ are,” Rilienus gasped, clinging to those words. “You are.” He took Dorian’s hand, pouring his rings and bracelets into his palm. “I would die for you a hundred times and call myself lucky. I’ll find you.”

“Will you-“ An exhalation, barely audible, as Dorian took his hand back. “I’m sorry- I don’t know what to- I want for you to be safe. No matter- whatever happens, just-“

“Why are you talking like this is the end? It’s time, that’s all. Time where you’ll be safe in the wind until I find you.” He rested his hand on Dorian’s knee, “Be safe. That’s all I’ve wanted. Let me worry about me.”

“I _do_ worry about you, you bloody idiot.” Dorian looked down at him, shaking his head. “Get out of here, before someone finds you. If I’m going to run, I’d like for it to have at least accomplished something.”

“Let them find me. It won’t matter. I’ll stay with you until you go. I’ll stay and damn anyone who tries to stop me.” 

“ _No_ ,” Dorian’s eyes widened again. “No. You have to-” 

“I _don’t-_ “ he hissed, cupping Dorian’s cheek. Rough and prickly under his palm. Rough, but whole- thank the gods- whole and clean and unbloodied. “I don’t. I won’t lose you until I have to. I’ll wipe every bloody mind in this whole fucking tower if I have to-“

“Get away from me.” Dorian recoiled, as though he’d been burned, scrambling towards the far edge of the bed. Tears began to pool in his unlined, reddened eyes. “Just _go_.” 

That look. Horror and shock and betrayal- why? “Dorian-“

“I can’t _look_ at you any longer, Rilienus.” Dorian covered his face, burying it in his hands as his shoulders shook. “Did you not hear me? _Leave_. Leave me now and don’t return.”

Tears where there had been blood. Where he’d pulled Heritia’s hands from that beautiful face and lost his mind. Anything- Anything to protect him. Sins against the Maker. Rilienus collected his silencing ward. Anything. Anything he asked. If looking at him pained- He hummed the shadows around him like a cloak and slipped from the room. He moved like a ghost. Returned the key. Walked into the baking heat of the sun and wished that it could burn him. 

  
  



	33. Do I wake or do I sleep?

## Dorian

Rilienus, cheekbones shaded, skin like fine whiskey, a smile that made him feel like anything was possible. Sitting among the battlements, staring out across a still-sleeping city, wishing he could fly.

A prince trapped in a tower, locked away from the sunlight, his heart growing pale and wan, but filling like a sail as soon as he was given the slightest touch of affection.

 _Let me love you_ , Dorian had murmured against his skin, again and again, holding him tightly, as though their embrace could shelter each other from the coming storms.

When had he fallen in love with him? Was it that first time, in Dorian’s darkened bedchamber, when Rilienus had opened himself to the sky and he’d seen into the depths of his soul?

Or was it the serviette full of strawberries, the admission that Rilienus had been wrong, his apology, the feel of his lips along the back of Dorian’s neck.

Or before, standing in front of the Praeceptor’s office, giving him advice on how to keep his neck on his shoulders. Advice he’d summarily ignored, as though he knew the world better than the boy who’d become a man within its walls.

He shivered in the blank room, his thumb tracing the line of the golden band he’d forged, his half of the pair, the set that he’d made when he promised himself to the man he loved.

He felt heavy. Old. Used up and discarded and thrown into the wind, detritus after a hurricane.

His love, his life, the look in his eyes when Dorian had pushed him away.

Pushed him away to keep him safe.

What’s life without risk? 

_Life_ , he’d wanted to scream. _You, alive and breathing and waking up in the morning to see the dawn. To watch the sunrise over Minrathous, the blue-green waves of the Nocen sparkling in the distance, reflected in those brilliant, beautiful eyes. To haunt the halls of the Order of Argent, until, one day the shackles were lifted._

_Life without risk was still life. Life without love was still-_

But he _did_ still love Rilienus. He felt the thrumming ache of that truth down to his toes, up to the sky. 

Loved him enough to push him away, to keep him safe, to ensure he rose again, to-

Laughing. They had been laughing, the last time he’d seen him, the time before the time before last. What had they been laughing about? It seemed an eternity since he’d been in that stone room, surrounded by warded walls, surrounded by _him_. Warm and welcome and cackling like mad hens, holding each other, hurried kisses before the bells called them away, the promise of more whispered on their lips.

He slipped the rings back on his fingers, one by one, until only the golden band remained. It slid over one end of the chain that held his birthright amulet and Dorian clasped the talismans around his neck. One for the family who had sent him here and the other for the family he’d found in the hallowed halls. Both left behind in a mad dash for freedom.

Each minute waiting for the prayer bell was agony. Dorian took the key and the map from Thaumaturgy, slipping them into a pocket in the robes they’d put him in. A _pocket_. 

He twisted the ring that led to his stock of brandy and found his old robes neatly folded inside, Rilienus’ correspondence pocket still stitched in a hidden seam. 

He could write a message. Send the map; he’d already memorized it. Apologize, explain, beg him to escape with him and hold him and build a life with him. To find the soothsayers in Rivain, to skim their feet through the Antivan surf, to-

Dorian dug in the little desk for ink and a quill, flipping the map over and scratching out a poem as quickly as his fingers could manage.

_Rilienus,_

_Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne,_

_Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends._

_J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne._

_Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps._

_I love you, Rilienus Maecilia. I’d rather have died in that courtyard than live another moment without you. I’ll die a thousand deaths every day in your absence. Come with me,_ amatus _, and we both can be free. I’ll spend the rest of our lives apologizing for the words I said, making it better, breathing life and love into you with each exhalation._

_Come with me and let me love you. I’ve never wanted anything more._

_Je t’aime, mon amour, mon coeur, please don’t let me go alone._

_Your dawn, your daylight, your Dorian._

His throat burned as he scrawled the final lines, biting his lip as he looked it over. 

Selfish. Selfish to ask Rilienus to go into hiding with him. They would be hunted, haunted, caught, and killed.

They’d be together, though. Together, against the world, as they had been, as they were meant to be. 

He traced the letters of Rilienus’ name as his vision blurred, falling drops dampening the ink and making it run again. 

He couldn’t send it. 

If Rilienus followed, he would doom him to a life of hiding; he’d been tucked away his entire existence. Rilienus deserved a chance to see the sunrise, unfettered, not hunted by his vindictive uncle. To bloom in the halls of the Magisterium, his birthright returned after a decade of loss.

And if he didn’t-

Safe. Rilienus would be safe again, relatively, if Dorian left. If Dorian was captured, he still might be. If Ril came with him and they were caught, then they’d know. The Praetor and the Praeceptor would _know_. Rilienus would be executed, if the Order examined either of their memories. 

Dorian folded the letter carefully and pressed his lips to the golden band, whispering against the cold metal in ancient Tevene an enchantment to open a pocket in space. He slipped the letter inside, along with the robe Rilienus had sewn his correspondence pocket into.

When the bell tolled, the flock of matching birds flitting off to evening prayers, Dorian slid his clandestine key into the padlock, slipping out of his room into the dusk. He activated a simulacra to cover his tracks for a time. Time to follow the map to the drainage gate in the healers’ garden. The winding tunnel that led below. He eased the heavy metal grating from its place in the soil, slipping through, his feet splashing down into ankle-deep water. Not sewage, but still smelling of dirt and mildew. Dark as a starless night.

Dorian bent his head, hands outstretched before him, afraid to draw upon his mana for light lest his resonance be traced.

A few croaks from toads that had made their home in the tunnel had nearly made him faint with anxiety, heart hammering so loudly in his chest that he feared the entire castle would hear it. 

It shouldn’t be beating at all. His heart was kneeling in the Chantry, head bowed, as the Father droned on about _sacrifice_. Mere yards away from where he and Rilienus kissed and kissed and kissed among barrels of grain and cases of cheap Chantry wine. 

Head bowed, eyes closed, believing- 

What would Rilienus be thinking? That Dorian hated him? That he was capable of hating him?

Terrifying. He’d been pulled back from the Void in exchange for another man’s life. Terrifying that Rilienus wielded that sort of power. Terrifying that he was willing to use it, not only to save him, but because he could. 

Terrifying, but Rilienus himself was terrified and he had every reason to be. The Order, the Magistrates, his Uncle would kill him if they knew what really had happened. Tear apart the tiny sliver of peace they’d erected for themselves. Alter Dorian’s memories so that he’d forget Rilienus completely. _Forget-_

Even if they couldn’t be together, he could hold onto his memories. Visit them, when-

Something slithered across Dorian’s foot and he bit back a scream, trudging forward in pitch black, his only company the song of the toads and the bitterness in his mouth. He reached a fork in the tunnel, turning right, right, left, right again, stepping gingerly through the muck, covering his nose from the scent of mold and mildew, telling himself that the odd brush against his ankles was just tangled leaves and branches.

For what seemed like hours, he wandered, beginning to think it was all for naught, that he was bound to fall and starve and bloat under the earth, where no one would find him. A dappled green glow appeared, dim and distant. Dorian approached, hesitantly, gingerly, as the light grew brighter with each step. 

A grate, covered with ivy and brambles, stretched over his head, just out of reach. He stood underneath, peering up at a star-filled sky, light from the moon filtering in through the shadows of the grate.

Far enough from the castle to cast a spell? Dorian wished he’d paid attention to Rilienus when he’d removed the resonance from his correspondence pockets and the gemstones. He’d never been particularly interested in hiding his magic, but now-

A small push of force to move the metal grate. Solidifying a patch of air to climb back into the world. A silent prayer to Andraste that his resonance wouldn’t be captured and traced.

He ran through the woods under the glow of the moon, stumbling over roots towards the lights of the city of Minrathous. When he finally dared glance back, the castle of the Order of Argent was a shadow on the horizon.

Dorian took a deep breath, closed his eyes, surrounded himself in a shroud of purple smoke, and transformed into a palm-sized songbird. 

An homage. A form he wasn’t sure he deserved to take anymore. The manifestation of the man he loved, who had saved his life, who had kept them safe and kept his promises. Abandoned in a prison, like it had meant nothing at all.

Whispers in the darkness, promises, that couldn’t survive daybreak.

But _they_ would, by the old gods and the new. _They’d_ survive the Order. They’d live to breathe outside its walls, under skies unfettered, unchained and unbound. 

He would sacrifice Rilienus’ love, for that, in exchange for the chance for them both to be free.

The wind under his wings was steady, gentle breezes blowing across the land from the Nocen Sea. Gusts billowing his feathers, driving him up, up, up into the sky, higher than he’d ever flown before. He could swallow the moon, if only he reached just a little higher, opened his beak just a touch wider. Swallow the moon and spit out stars like cashews. Make stardust fall like glitter upon the world. 

A pang of loneliness struck like a crossbow bolt as he realized he couldn’t tell Rilienus how it felt to fly among the clouds under starlight, drawing inevitably closer to the city they’d stared at from a distance from his tower window. Wouldn’t rest his head against Rilienus’ chest to listen to his heartbeat as the elfroot tonic he made when Dorian practiced polymorphing began to take effect. Wouldn’t bare his mind, his mana, his spirit to the man he’d promised his heart to. Couldn’t hold him as they both thought of pasts they couldn’t change, that burned them like fire lashes. 

Rilienus’ eyes were as green as the fields he soared over, the leaves of the trees he perched upon for a few moments when his feathers began to droop.

Rilienus was as bold and reckless as Dorian when it came to protecting them.

Rilienus had trusted Dorian, trusted him with his fragile, pieced together heart, and he’d crushed it in his palm. Crushed it as though it weren’t the most precious artifact in the world.

The familiar hum of the city of Minrathous did nothing to stir that sharp stab of remorse. Pawning his jewels and gems for enough coin to buy a room in a half-decent brothel in the elven district filled him with nothing but an even more bitter anguish. Three bottles in, when he’d forgotten about the wards that protected the castle and slipped his tailored robes from their hiding place to finally send Rilienus the message he’d kept to himself, his apology, his plea, his admission of the truth, the letter simply crinkled against the hem of the correspondence pocket, unmoving.

Behind his gilded, locked door, Dorian pulled out every piece of poetry, every letter, every tiny gift Rilienus had given him, cataloguing them and slotting them away in the pocket the golden band summoned. When his hands were finally empty, all of their memories stored away, tomes in his library, pristine and protected, Dorian finally felt the bitter sting of too warm tears as his back slid against the carved mahogany of the door. Crumpled on the ground, a bruised and battered and broken thing. 

What a gift it was to be free. Lonely and aching in his solitary room, surrounded and bounded as surely as any castle walls. His wish, finally granted, once it was no longer desired. The Maker was a cruel bastard, unforgiving and harsh, giving with one hand and taking away from the other. 

But Rilienus was safe again, in his warded walls, watching the world pass by him. He’d survive this and walk free one day, summer sun filling his nightingale wings as he stretched them and remembered how to fly.

It was enough. It _had_ to be enough. Tears dripping down Dorian’s cheeks as his fingers circled the thin golden band. To be alive, to be well, until, perhaps, Rilienus returned to him one day on gentle breezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for embarking upon this journey with us!
> 
> We’re pleased to say that Dorian and Rilienus will return soon! Subscribe to the [series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794817) to receive updates on when Part 2 posts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say hi to [Oftachancer](https://oftachancer.tumblr.com/) and [Middy](https://midnightprelude.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you're so inclined!


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